I don’t get a girl cause girls aren’t to be caught,
That’s what mama says and I say it all the time,
She’s dead so I guess it makes me feel better about living here,
On earth, in a place like Troy.

It’s a dead end city,
All my passions lay on a bed of ******
And ****,
I hate this town but I’m preaching to the choir
The choir
I’m preaching to the choir

I don’t even like women,
No, but I imagine that one day I could be a husband,
To see that someone could love me.
All my scabs and leftover scars,
Are something to be admired,
Or maybe they’ll find my laugh, charming.

There’s a guilt associated with you,
A lingering sunset before darkness,
A winter breeze at the end of fall,
I don’t know how I feel about you.

Now I’ve kissed other people
Laid in their beds and hated their guts,
Watched as I grew farther from their touch,
Nothing seemed certain.
Not nearly as much as you.

If I were a smarter person, I’d have let you go,
You haunt my dreams these nights,
Bringing about a chorus of doubt,
Maybe I never should have said goodbye.

What if there’s nothing to look forward to?
A concert or two to keep me going.
And through the winter I might break.
This time, I don’t want to be turned in.
The hospital hasn’t done much for me.

Now I fall through bed-sheets,
Figuring out the meaning to living,
A pretentious ******* with no right,
What I'd do to become everything I want.

In the meantime,
Give me reasons to survive at bare minimum,
Holding only a grain of sand,
While everyone else seems to hold more.

Now I fall through bed-sheets,
Figuring out the meaning to living,
A pretentious ******* with no right,
What I'd do to become everything I want.

I've got to move far away,
This dreadful town has me in tears,
A new sunset to appreciate every night,
Holding me down with an existential weight.

There's no telling that I'd do, friend,
To pack my bags and *******,
Against everyone's wishes,
I'm a failure to touch or view.

Its selfish to ask for help,
And I'd be begging to be killed,
Without it.

Give me a sign,
from the love of nobody's life,
I'll sign my life away to the metal,
Rind my teeth against bones,
Just to feel justified in my selfishness.

Don't ******* help me,
I'll do it all on my own,
Just get drunk, smoke some ****,
Burrow deeper into the molten hot sand.

Maybe I'll write a story about how I learned to survive,
Then reflect back on myself to see that I've still died.
I'm still figuring out how to die.
Figuring out if I can die.

Cause it's all futile,
To ask for help, I'd be a manipulator,
And if I called home,
Would anyone answer and take me seriously?

Im tired of pretending that Im any good at singing,
Cause my vocal cords crack and groan at every note,
Maybe I don't drink enough water,
or maybe my throat is just sick of me singing.

I don't know anything more than four cords,
My guitar doesn't see much use except abuse,
Although my piano just might be a *******,
I'm just a fool with a tool to speak his muse.

I wanna find it inside of myself,
A driving passion to bring money home,
Cause I'm sitting here with nothing,
Except a couple dollars to my name.

The poems I write are far too basic,
Nobody likes them but to be fair neither do I,
I can't show my face to anybody now,
Cause the porcelain is beginning to break.

It's chipping away, away, away...
Down the drain, away, away, away...
And now I sway, away, away, away...
In my room as a dull tool who loves music,
away, away, away...