Behind your eyelids I can see,
A entourage of demons,
They'll make you feel alone and break your veins.

I will tell them to step down,
Cause I'm in front of your Irises,
And I'm the one to tell you what's truth from false.

Cover me from the rain,
With the tarp you stole from the neighbor's garage,
I'm a sponge that's ****** up too much liquid,
Anymore and I just might gain some weight,
With the weight that rests on my shoulders I don't want anymore,
Cause my frail knees might crumble under me,
And I will lay face down on the ground,
Unable to make a sound and while you surround, I'll be breaking down.

Forecast had been getting me down,
A puzzle-piece brain rearranging,
Shaking the foundations of my sanity,
Produced for myself, an island alone,
Like Atlantis I would sink to disappear,
Expected to never be found again.

It's stormy,
My strain forming,
Wished I was a story,
Make believe,
Fictional,
Paper-thin product producing purpose.

Instead I was holding onto hot coals,
How in all of the ocean was I alive,
After all the waves and the sharks,
I was alive.

Choose your ghost to fall into,
Two clouds make a whole storm,
And the thunder will rumble,
As the lightening strikes,
Through the ground comes the faith you lost,
Wrap that faith around your neck,
Hope that God comes to save,
While you get thrashed against the floor,
You're screaming out for more,
And you or I stretched towards the ceiling,
Where the clouds formed the snow,
Inside your weathered room.

Nothing's gone right,
Mr. Lake is a figment of your imagination,
Poison boy keeps bothering you,
And Wool Kid's got his hood in your mouth.

You wanted to be a son,
A lamb of something so far, far away,
Of something you never believed to exist,
Yet here you lay, begging for forgiveness,
Knees to the ground and head tilted,
You were tired of rhymes and ***** bones,
Set fire, set fire, set fire to yourself,
I'm getting sick of pretending it wasn't so bad,
Cause I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't been so strange.

Nothing's gone right,
Mr. Lake is a figment of your imagination,
Poison boy keeps bothering you,
And Wool Kid's got his hood in your mouth.

Lead me to hedges instead of ledges,
I'll take it in slow to rest my bow,
Upon wooded trees will be me.

I was torn and forlorn that I was born,
Why I was so twisted as they insisted,
That I must conform to not transform,
A better person that was inside for sometime.