Bad Butterflies

The bad butterflies are coming back again
No pattern, no predictability, no bargainin'
How could something as mindless as breathing be so hard
How come all I'm feelin' is the beating of my heart
They tell me to, "man up, it can't be that hard to go through a drive thru window"
I write down my phone calls and cry after them
'Cause the bad butterflies are coming back again

I made a little box in my head
His name is Fred and he's so strong
I can use him all day long
To put bad thoughts where they belong
He's made of wood and laced with vеlvet
His face has a big lock on it
He is infinitе in size
And I'll open him up when I'm ready
I'll open him up when I'm ready
I'll open him up when I'm ready
I'll tap my hands on my knees and call out Freddy
I'll open him up when I'm ready
I'll open him up when I'm ready
Freddy, Freddy, Freddy, Freddy, Freddy, Freddy