feeling disturbing.
taking a bottle and smashing it into my head.
feeling lonely.
taking back all the words that i may have said.
and someday,
maybe we'll find all the papers that we lost.
someday,
maybe we'll find ourselves upon that cross.
and it doesn’t mind the interests of some different admirers.
but if it did, would it really have mattered?

steal me, burn me, pick me up and wipe me off.
feel me, learn me, lower me and stand me up.

and it does no harm,
to figure out what we're doing.
but does it alarm you
to know that we are losing?
segments of our lives:
wiped away in the fire.
receiving your grievances
through this tapped telephone wire.
inserted into the back of my head,
keeps us connected.
forewarning me of times
I’ll be rejected.

steal me, burn me, pick me up and wipe me off.
feel me, learn me, lower me and stand me up.

does it burn into your head…
those times you set the air afire?
I was used, abused, and made into a liar.
and I won’t, I can’t, I refuse to let you go.
you didn’t, you don’t and you won’t ever know
the shit dealt to my hand
sticking around this hole with you
you won’t see
everything
that I’ve seen and been through.
because you’re not alive…