You can cut to the bone with,
All my angry obsessions,
All these chalky happy pills,
And their consequences,
Am I done with sleeping?
Am I done with waking up?
Am I through with thinking?
That I've taken to much into my apologies,
And lucid dreams, and f___ed up thinking

I bleed inside,
I fear my life,
I wake and I hide,
I choke till it soaks into all these anxious fits,
And agoraphobic dreams of happiness

You can cut to the f___ing point,
Of how I'm so frustrated,
As you strip away this fear,
And you sand and paint it,
Am I through with drinking?
Am I done with waking up?
Am I tired of thinking,
That I've taken to much into all I want to be,
The ghost of me is far from leaving

I bleed inside,
I fear my life,
I wake and I hide,
I choke till it soaks into all these anxious fits,
And agoraphobic dreams of happiness

I feel claustrophobic thinking,
That my skin is a prison in itself,
You want to share my cell?

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