I write songs about the way I feel

But sometimes I don't feel, other times I feel too much

I don't air my dirty laundry

I wear it out in public when I do shows

But now the laundry room needs some work

Tons of contractors, they give me estimates

And that was such a lousy metaphor

But if I told the truth

It'd all be comin' out like

Ba-ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da

Saw at least ten therapists last week

Each one gave me a different form to fill out

And when the therapy's done, what can I expect?

Maybe medication

But in the meantime I seclude myself, I distract myself

Otherwise I'm gonna cry all day

And when the therapy's done, and I'm all cried out

I tried to tell ya'

But it all kept comin' out like

Ba-ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da

This bite size help keeps me at bay

But it really only teaches me how to act

When they say it's gonna be okay

They're all, "Marc, it's gonna be okay"

It's like givin' a whale a Tic-Tac

I talked to my daughter on the phone

She was visiting grandma, a.k.a. my mom

Said she found a Donald Duck plush doll

That I once loved when I was her age

I cried because what if I passed the torch?

What if Juliana ends up this fucked up?

And partially because I miss that doll

I wanna cry on it's shoulder

And mutter words that sound like

Ba-ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da

Ba-ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da

This bite size help keeps me at bay

But it really only teaches me how to act

When they say it's gonna be okay

They're all, "Marc, it's gonna be okay"

It's like givin' a whale a Tic-Tac