Blue birds and a paisley massacre
Monsters, cards, and dice
I thought the world was made of fire
But your eyes were made of ice
I drowned myself within their pools
Never thinking twice
I thought the world would end in fire
Oh, you put it out so nice

I'm in the way
Though you won't say
And time and again
I nod and I grin
All the while knowing,
All the signs showing,
I should walk away
Hold my tongue, don't say,
"Why am I always in the way?"

"I am who I am. Before this jury I stand.
I think therefore I am. I am something great – something grand.
If you are you and I am me
Why, then, can you not see?
That I am who I am; I can not change.
I can only be so odd, so strange
As you are to me.

Alas, who is that hanging from that tree?"

If you think I am perfect
You are sorely mistaken
And if you think I am flawless
I am surely forsaken

I am covered in scars
From wars waged by the mind
I am filled with tears
That no eyes could ever find

So, if you think I am ideal
So kind, so beautiful, and smart
I will be quick to remind you
That I have an empty heart

That I am only a little girl
Made of flesh and bone
I am only a little girl
Who is scared of being alone.

In this heart a flame burns
There is something for which it yearns
It is not you, it is not me
I yearn solely for the "we"

If this flame should die
It will extinguish with a sigh.
And I will be left empty
Alone without the "we"
In you and I.

Boredom shatters a fragile mind
Longing, searching, it will not find
Something to capture its wandering soul
These broken pieces won't become whole
Floating on a sea of indifferent waves
Thoughts will not be chained, will not be slaves
Sinking, drowning, darkness sets in
And though this lethargy I can not defend
I succumb to its spell again,
                                    and again,
                                                         and again.

There's a seed of hatred buried within
It's filled with rage, soaked in sin
It begins to grow, bursts into a tree
Filling every empty inch of me
It fills the heart, bursts the lungs
From these trees you'll be strung
When this rage has reached its peak
No solace you'll find, death you'll seek
My helping hand, will provide escape
Your limbs I'll bind, your mouth I'll tape
Your silhouette dangles in the setting sun
And at last this ***** deed is done