I Want My Bad Ideas Back

I want my bad ideas back!
Back—back—back—

My phone lights up at a quarter to three.
Somebody’s selling a better me.
He’s got my eyes and expensive teeth.
He sleeps all night. He doesn’t need me.

My thumb keeps digging where the day went missing.
I hate this song, but I keep on listening.
There’s a crack in the glass right across my face.
I swipe and swipe. It stays in place.

You know what I want till I want you to leave.
Get your hands off the worst of me!

I want my bad ideas back!
The nights we couldn’t prove we had.
Let the last train leave without us.
Let the neighbors learn the chorus.
I want my bad, bad, bad ideas back!

Give ’em back!

You sell the wound, then sell the stitch,
Then sell a shirt that says “Eat the rich.”
I bought one. Yeah, I know how that looks.
I’m in the crowd and I’m on your books.

But there’s a band in the flat downstairs,
A kick drum braced with a kitchen chair.
Her voice cracks. We miss the cue.
For half a song, I forget about you.

You know what I want till I want you to leave.
Get your hands off the worst of me!

I want my bad ideas back!
The nights we couldn’t prove we had.
Let the last train leave without us.
Let the neighbors learn the chorus.
I want my bad, bad, bad ideas back!

Give ’em back!

You’ll sell this chorus back to me.
I know.
You’ll even get the words right.

But when the power went out—
Nobody stopped singing.

I want my bad ideas back!
The nights we couldn’t prove we had.
Let the last train leave without us.
Hear the neighbors sing the chorus.
I want my bad, bad, bad ideas back!

Bad ideas!
Give ’em back!
Bad ideas!
Give ’em back!

I WANT MY BAD IDEAS BACK!