The music doesn’t hurt as much as list’ning to my mind.
I play it loud to drown thoughts out but they respond in kind.
Screaming my inad’quacy to make it through the day
without a breath of sweetest death to kill my pain away.
They nag me like a ten year wife or like a dripping sink
without a cup to catch it up and take a soothing drink.
They don’t offer a solution but only a critique
of things I’ve made and games I’ve played to make my future bleak
And I have naught to answer them but just to say I try
to be all tough but its not enough what’s more it is a lie
It’s a second accusation that they can make of me
I have to laugh but I still have to admit that I’m not free
For everything that I can do is not but spit and mud
All I can give to help me live is someone perfect’s blood.
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