There's no song that even comes close-
To matching the sea of loathing inside,
I'm running, seething, not verbose-
Wearing baggy clothes to hide,

The scars that I can't afford to make-
I'm breaking behind paper walls so high,
Counting cars like falling stars-
Faking it all, "I'm just fine," I lie,

I'd love to rip my throat out-
With the hands that dug my grave,
I shrug, and slip away, in doubt-
Why can't I just behave?