for seven hours a day
  i am told how to think
  i am told how to speak
i am so done with the drama
with the people
with the secrets
  so i guess
  you should go on without me
or something among the lines of that
  so i left the building
  the people
  the ideas
  the thoughts
  the speech
far behind
so i guess this is
*Goodbye

sometimes I wonder
    why I can do it
so dress me up,
    my dear man
paint on my smile
    draw my dress
I guess tomorrow won't matter
    if you keep drawing my dress
    if you keep painting my smile

you can cover me
    with your sorrows
I'll soak them up
    with my cloth
so everything goes away
    hopefully I'll make everything
disappear into the cloth I own
    so maybe we can be happy
if I hope and dream hard enough

hiding alone the words slur together
the skin that i hold traps me
i guess tomorrow will be a better day
but can i go on
alone alone alone alone i sigh
i dont understand any longer
why am i like this happy then sad then in between
hiding alone the words slur together

Call out! He says
I say, What do I say?
The man disappears.
I see echos of footprints, I hear the echo of words.
There's nothing left. I sit down on dirt, a tear falling.
Sighing, I turn back. A man runs through the halls.
'We, a great wind, sweeping over us all.' He cries.
I nodded, and join the chant. Soon all of London is screaming the pass of words.
I smile, and turn off into the mist. *My job here is done.

I stared.
those white, flying
things that were dancing.
graceful, light
with such sorrow

crying, but no one hears
smiling like nothing is
wrong
wrong
wrong

they say "stop"
i say "what"

Profanity is such a strange thing.
They scream its name, but I can't dream of not waking up and muttering,
"oh ****"

"stop it" they scream
"stop what" i scream back, my words hitting their cheeks.

Profanity is such a strange thing.
I mutter to the air, sun, moon
"oh ****"

i guess their scared of the truth behind some words
that mutter themselves over and over.

Profanity is such a strange thing.