I Am the Least of Your Problems

Woke in a ditch where the bitches grin to the sound of the present tense How many sound checks can a man ignore before he turns into a shadow of himself? I've got nothing left but an autograph and the strangest sense of doubt I think the name belongs to me But someone else is living with it I am the least of your problems But I don't mind Fell on myself with the tender touch and the shame of the indiscreet How many hand jobs can a man enjoy till he forms into a puddle at his feet? I got things to say in a plastic voice that I learned on the way to hell Again the point of missing you No one else will do it for me I am the least of your problems But i don't mind Draw it out as long as you can bear it Fight it out Fight it out Fight it out the misery is glorious