it's still not a fashion statement, what i wear on my face
and in the places where i'm faring pretty.
the way i sit in my skin's a defense.
it's not coincidence, my countenance.
i'm plagued, i'm crazed, i'll sail for days. so let's set sea.
your majesty, i've never felt this useful.
set me up on your stage; watch the change in my face.
i'll fall, sinking crimson, splendidly.
oh, the beauty in this crime scene.

i said i had some sentiment worth voicing.
i was capable of screaming,
and now here i am bleeding for your sympathy.
don't say you've never felt like me,
but don't bother with apologies.

is my suffering so pretty yet?
does the aesthetic of my anguish
suit your mood? if it's singing true, nod your head.
bash it into the wall and then crawl out of this pity party.
if you know how i do, pain'll be a relief from this bar scene.

just make it stop.  

ask me, is this your decision? no- i've lost control, become the victim
of a number of debilitating conditions, 'cause i fed them.
let me weep for my self-pity, my ugly-pretty misery.

i was promised an improvement.
i was told i'd feel better eventually.
well, i've spent seven years soulless. where's my solace?
where's my peace of mind?
cause i'm still feeling wild, on fire,
directionless and impoverished. i've been a hot mess
for so long it's not even fun anymore.
ultimately even self-pity grows stale and motionless.

yeah, there's no money in being sad and sick, honey.
everybody's heard that one too many times before.

they call me the mourning dove.
hallowed be my refrain.
i sing with a bleeding tongue-
beauty stems from my pain.*

you're slivered inside and derided on sight.
your abhorrent habits have cast fans aside-
your knack for dramatics belittles the tragic.
it isn't romantic. get over your strife.

they call me the mourning dove.
hallowed be my refrain.
i sing with a bleeding tongue-
beauty stems from my pain.

not all life is suffering- you're twisting it in your head.
psychosomatic pain's no reason to act dead.
you're wasting your youth with these childish blues.
self-pity is useless, contagious. get out of bed.

they call me the mourning dove.
hallowed be my refrain.
i sing for my poisoned loves-
my voices guides them to their graves.

stop worr'ying the wound and it'll event'lly heal.
quit floating towards koreyland- identify what is real.
if you wanna get better you gotta be brave.
face the pain and the rain or stay caught up in tears and weals.

i'm willing to do what it takes to make this bar go wild.
the only question left: are you susceptible to what i've got?
if we can't jive, we're empty-handed- but i've got vibes that you and i can get down.

let's get down, then- let's get ******* wild.
let's jam, man- i wanna hear what you've got in your hands.
what do you have in your bones that'll get you mad enough to dazzle?
let the passion take you over. i wanna watch you lose control.

i won't keep you waiting once you embark- i promise you that.
would it get you on your feet if i said i saw something in you and i wanted at it?
or would the aftermath of that statement leave me flattened?
either way, i'll end up collapsing on the stage eventually.

so am i something to write home about?
do i dazzle? or am i just one of the flock?
tell me; i need to know. i feed on what you think of me.
i'm in dire need of validation; i've no self-esteem. so speak.

one, two, three. clap your hands if you believe in me.
keep it to the beat if you wanna see me healthy.
i don't do well when things aren't right. yeah, i'm a delicate flower child with a bad case of the wilds.

acromegalous. i grew too much. i'm a city fish in a little pond.
i'm gasping for air here; i'm so ******* bored. let me out.

i don't fit this skin, so i'll unzip it.
shrug my way out and slip into a better living.
lighter and more lively. just you wait and see. i'll make it, just you wait.

i poison what i touch, but it's ******* interesting.
wanna watch me implode on the big-screen?
i'll cry if it'll get you thinking.
i'll scream and shout if you'll believe it means something.
i just gotta make it look like i'm still alive.

i guess i'm done with apologies- what good did they ever do?
it's time i leapt before i looked, in order to move
despite fear rooting me in this swamp. yeah, i've been festering
here in this basement. apologies if the shrieking pestered
you. i was merely releasing stuck energy- in this agony, i seem so rude.

now that i've molted, i've no time to speak of my callow mistakes:
i can only swear silently to make up for them and for the time i've wasted.
let's face it, i'm nameless and my teens have passed me, but i've not missed my opportunity.
i'll prove it to you with this hopeful departure from the cliff.

i am no man or woman, not like you. i am woven of memory and birdflesh.
my hollow bones surely will grant me the gift of flight if i try my hardest.
if i leave you bereft, my second-best solution was to disappear, so there's that-
if i do not succeed, at least my failure will spare me the embarassment.

yeah, **** saying sorry, cause nothing ever came of it.
i could've said ten times more with my deeds- if i'd had the strength.
i guess we all could've tried a little harder than we did.
please just let me go now. i'll call if i've made it.
if not, well, **** saying sorry- cause i've had it.

yeah, we all say things we really mean, then sober up and forget to be honest.
i know you would've come if you'd remembered making the promise.
i won't say a word, no, i won't call you on it.
even though it's nowhere close to fair, we tried our hardest-
i swear we did what we could- so **** it.
i'm sick of being apologetic.

if you could only ease my eyes from their sockets
and pop them into your own head, unfettered,
you would see the truth in my words.
i've gone and spilled my guts here- the letters
are viscera and blood upon the page.
how brave they are to carry my sentiment,
how strong to bear my burdens.

dig into my intestines in an effort to understand
why i am leaden: they are bags of sand-
or is my immobility caused by the black hole in my gut?
tonight i'm the sidewalk, trodden on, grey, stained with yesterday's glut.

i am sober tonight, i swear. it's you who swells
and fails to understand what i am talking about.
i will not watch myself fade and sink for any longer.
tonight i abscond from your corner of hell.
"i am the combined effort of everyone i've ever met",
so baby, if i'm failing, maybe i just haven't found the right people yet.
we are both responsible for this crash.
you didn't start the fire, but you handed me the match.

my chest cavity is hollow. my body is rotting out from beneath me. i stagger on scaly feet.
when was the last time i bothered to eat?
if i come home tonight, i'm bringing my army with me.
tonight i'm bringing it all back.
i will not face this basement without something harsh to numb the pain.

there's a cavern in this cadaver. noise ricochets off hollow walls,
intensifying the immense desire to initiate my demise.
my soul split after the ellipsis tricked the will out of the innocent.
i have little motivation and the voices make my head spin,
leaving me wasted and short-changed at the frontline again.
let me sink to the fourth regiment. take my bayonet-
i have no need for it now, not when my skin sings for silver
and i'm begging for the end.

we won't be saved til we're dead, but corpses never know they're saved.
i'll lay in torment in my grave long after dirt obscures my frame,
but misery to me is commonplace, like my disgrace.
"you can't go to heaven unless you get high"- well, i've tried,
but my withering physique is merely shame with a face.
i asked entrance, and the doorman could not recognize me.
he said, "this place is for souls, not for the embodiment of self-loathing."
he denied me admittance and bid me good riddance, kicked me from the clouds,
and i fell back to living hell, still hollow, without absolution or due pittance.

"what doesn't **** you makes you stronger"- what *******.
they fed those pacifier lines to me so i would stop sobbing and deal with it.
i've learned to keep my countenance blank, to stop the stares and questions.
my carcass dons a steady gaze while inside i howl, pain relentless, ageless, endless.

i'd eviscerate myself a thousand times if it would give me peace,
but i know inside that i'm too entwined with suffering for it to cease.

i'm a pitiful creature
fueled by the hope of a new day,
but every night i fall asleep disappointed,
and you're sick of empty promises.

every morning i drag myself up
to some semblance of self-sufficience,
beat myself against the walls
and wonder why i won't change.
every night i fall asleep disappointed,
and you're sick of empty promises.

my mouth is moving. you've heard this before,
but we'll both pretend my number's not up.
rhetoric won't get me out of this,
and you're sick of empty promises,
but i'm not sick of trying just yet.