Well, it's not much of a home, but it's place where I lay my head.
I got bugs and spiders crawling everywhere near my shoes and near my bed.
And it's kind of crowded in my room, but even so, it's still my room.
It gives me something to do when I want to think of you.
Because my parents were never there.
Send me a notion that you care. Keep sending me postcards addressed to the cupboard under the stairs.
They keep me in here for hours and I think of that fatal car crash.
That blinding flash, so fast, bright green light, a flash.
And my scar will burn tonight. I don't think that truth has been told to me.
Send me a notion that you care. Keep sending me postcards addressed to the cupboard under the stairs.