Sticks and stones may break my bones
ropes and locked cell doors may hold me back and down
but this is deeper, wounds you cannot see
inflicted upon me by invisible weapons,
phantom limbs of the monster in me hold me down
in a mime's box, and I can't break free.
And you're expecting this from me.
So are they. You're all expecting
this from me.
But I know it's all in my head, dear,
but I'm there, too, and I can't pull out of this.
Would you peer in my brown-rimmed, black-tinted portholes,
wave a warm hello, point a way out, I'm so pissed,
this enemy in me, what does he want from me?
And as you peer those crystal wells into me,
I see a faint reflection, like a mirror on a wall, a reminder,
blaring back at my the unfairest image of them all.
A monstrosity choking itself with it's own hand, ignoring
the feast ebfore him, and the hunger for unbound possibility.
Feedback again. Not changing.
And you're expecting this from me.
So are they. You're all expecting
this from me.
You shake your head at me: same old story.
You call me by name, but your eyes call me futility.
You see me the way they see me, the way I see me,
the way you all see me, the way we all see me:
a monstrosity self-inflicting pain, future same as history.
I've got to change the way we think of me
the cycles not just within me, but to all you back to me
tweleve steps back to Now might take geographical recovery
but I like you, but I need you, but I can't control you,
would you change your minds for me?
No, so it seems.
Feedback again. Not changing.
And you're expecting this from me.
So are they. You're all expecting
this from me.
It would make this process so much more easy.
Just change your outlook on me for me.
Must I run away to make the same old story history?
Can't you expect more from me?
ropes and locked cell doors may hold me back and down
but this is deeper, wounds you cannot see
inflicted upon me by invisible weapons,
phantom limbs of the monster in me hold me down
in a mime's box, and I can't break free.
And you're expecting this from me.
So are they. You're all expecting
this from me.
But I know it's all in my head, dear,
but I'm there, too, and I can't pull out of this.
Would you peer in my brown-rimmed, black-tinted portholes,
wave a warm hello, point a way out, I'm so pissed,
this enemy in me, what does he want from me?
And as you peer those crystal wells into me,
I see a faint reflection, like a mirror on a wall, a reminder,
blaring back at my the unfairest image of them all.
A monstrosity choking itself with it's own hand, ignoring
the feast ebfore him, and the hunger for unbound possibility.
Feedback again. Not changing.
And you're expecting this from me.
So are they. You're all expecting
this from me.
You shake your head at me: same old story.
You call me by name, but your eyes call me futility.
You see me the way they see me, the way I see me,
the way you all see me, the way we all see me:
a monstrosity self-inflicting pain, future same as history.
I've got to change the way we think of me
the cycles not just within me, but to all you back to me
tweleve steps back to Now might take geographical recovery
but I like you, but I need you, but I can't control you,
would you change your minds for me?
No, so it seems.
Feedback again. Not changing.
And you're expecting this from me.
So are they. You're all expecting
this from me.
It would make this process so much more easy.
Just change your outlook on me for me.
Must I run away to make the same old story history?
Can't you expect more from me?
