Lids they're found in magazinesnThey hang like guillotinesnDaunting over perfect scenesnPoised above my headnLids they act like autumn leavesnThey'll bring you in a breezenPainted nails on broken feetnStrangle every stepnnCHORUSnJust, just don't jumpnToo highnFrail girlnIt's not your placenTo look,nFor more than this.n(x2)nnMore than this.nnLids they're sewn into your clothesnThey never decomposenPicked apart by worms and crowsnOnly tags remainnSwimming in your blood they seizenThe possibilitiesnAll these years your feet were kneesnDarling if you pleasennJust, just don't jumpnToo highnFrail girlnIt's not your placenTo looknFor more than thisn(x2)nnMore than this.nnLids over my earsnOver my eyesnOver my pots and pansnBring me to ah--nLids over my earsnOver my eyesnOver my pots and pansnBring me to a boilnLids over my earsnOver my eyesnOver my pots and pansnBring me to a boilnnJust, just don't jumpnToo highnFrail girlnIt's not your placenTo looknFor more than thisn(x2)nnMore than this.nn