Oh how the mighty have fallen into themselves
Tie yourself down to the thoughts of being hurt
You can no longer fight feelings of self-loathing
Thoughts that you could actually be happy.
Well true art comes of shit and piss
And you have manufactured your own pain
To help co-opt some truth
To make this death seem more real.
It is all smoke and mirrors
Mom and dad have your ass covered
No one pays attention to you when your happy
Tremble and shake like you do when you play fight.
I never thought someone would find my pain so enlightening that they’d steal this part of me.
And now your songs just sound plagiarized with my life.
I hate that you hate yourself just to feel things borrowed from pale hurt friends made untrue.
A real martyr is a dead one, so finish the circle to yr unlife.
