I see through my own *******
past where the guise lies
I play the tortured artist
but I can escape at any time

I have grown used to the cold
it is what I've come to know
its in my surroundings
it is what I hold

Why try to compromise
what I have come to like?
I will not subside
in what I see as trite

I may contradict myself
but at least I can admit
while everyone else
seems to buy into their gambit