There's a hole in my stomach
Everything I swallow gets stuck inside of me
All the cheap drinks and the whispers that escape your fragile smile
All the lies inbetween the kitchen tiles

A ghost from my past is playing with fire like an iconoclast
And I'm trying on a new identity, yeah I'm looking through my wardrobe for a different one everyday

Seems like the only thing the music critics see is new adjectives to leave
You're the prettiest puppet I've ever seen
But somebody else is pulling the strings
They're the one making all your words sing

My pockets been spent, but I forgot my wallet was in it
I lost all my power, now I'm mute every time you throw a fit
You're angry because your mind has become a cinema of hypothetical skits
Because you're thinking about it at night, and in morning with your oatmeal and grits
Trying to knit together a torn pocket, you're sitting where you sit, the only thing you've ever done about it is gotten lit
It just keeps tearing apart, you're tearing apart, you're getting sick of it