Soft Skills - Suitcase Lyrics

There's a swarm in my stomach
I think it's probably just my head
And my girl, she's a stone

I think your mother suits me more...

I calm myself on evenings with anything you smoke
Rest my head on the ceiling, thinking

I think your mother suits me more...

It's out of my hands.

I'm hidden like a stow away, I'm hidden like a stow away
You can call me a suitcase, you can carry me around
You can carry me around, you can call me suitcase
You can call me suitcase, you can carry me around...