It's hard to sell myself
When I can't even sell myself to me
Made in god's image
Bet he didn't get very far in art
I'm a mirror but frankly I can't stand the sight
Not broken by bad luck
Just bent by knuckles coated in glass
Guess I need to practice what I preach
I'll wait at the steeple
Till I find a justifiable reason for this internal beating
I can't smell the roses anymore
My thorns are deep under my skin
And the tainted glassers only focus on negatives
Can I ever win?
Imagine a movie where the good  and bad guy are one and the same
Going round and round forever in vain
Self harm doesn't always reach the surface
I wish hope was as easy as some songs make out
Stop wishing, waiting
On a shooting star
Stop wishing, waiting
On a man in the stars
Did those birthday candles get you far?