We cannot take
a good, hard look
at ourselves
without help;
our own perception
a fun-house mirror,
twisting our foibles
into grotesques.
We become too big,
thinking we loom large
in the lives of others
who could not care less,
or we shrink into nothing,
disappearing from those
who miss us dearly.
Judge, jury and executioner,
we condemn ourselves
as not worthy of the air we breathe.
We cannot take
a good, hard look
at ourselves.
The look is rarely good,
and often far,
far too hard.

He relishes in the dark
And lives among the dead
His presence is enough to cause the living dread
The assassinator of souls
And demise of men
He will strike, but you'll never know when
The fear of many yet the prayer of some
Known as the grim reaper
He'll come back again

The graveyard is his home
The dead are his friends
But today he stands among the silence of the dead
And wonders what its like to meet an end

With that thought in mind
He lights up his cigarette
Exhales the noxious smoke
And inhales the toxins
Whats fatal to the mortals
Is abortive on him
His heart is dark and existence is grim
And that burning cigarette is all of what he has

So he finds pleasure in its poison
And hopes to be its prey
Although he's aware
He'll never see that day
But that glowing cigarette
keeps his demons away...

Every night i slip through the sands of time
And escape to the world of dreams
Only to be rudely pushed back into the harsh world of reality the next morning
And i just hate it

You say that you love me
So why don't your actions suggest the same?
All you do is make me cry
And yet you put on me the blame

I don't want no gifts
I don't want no fancy stuff
All i want is a little respect
I think that's not too much to expect

Mean what you say
With my heart...don't just play
You keep hurting me every other day
And make it so difficult for me to stay....
...in this relationship

So please stop hurting me
Love me like you used to
You weren't like this before
Baby...what's wrong with you?