Covered in blood I am bled to believe I'm cut up in things I can't understand. With these holes in my hands it's too hard to hold on to you without letting go of myself. Narrow your minds and read mine like a book about someone else I'm trying to be and dying to know. Literally dying to know. In no position now to disagree that I was taking you for granted. Sorry, but my Dad, he told me to. Who knew you would end it. Who knows maybe I would end it too but I'm not the one who believes in me.
At least I have somewhere to rest my head. Up here I am king. Down there I'm nothing but a man who will live for himself, by himself and buys himself the time to agree that I was taking you for granted.
I'm not the one who believes in me.
Forget what I said. This is freaking me out. It's freaking me out and I think I'm about to forget these things and forgive you like it's nothing to me. Why? Because I'm tired of this. So tired of this distance between us. I doubt you even notice that this is now killing me - making me out to be something more than I am.