There are loads of things you feel you’ve said and I see the lights inside your head but the truth is half the things you say are said to someone else
and I know it’s not your fault that you forget
but you can’t pretend I can’t be hurt
by the way you interchange me with another little flirt
and maybe they aren’t flirting with you maybe they just want to talk but tell why’d they lean in close and whisper “wanna take a walk”
maybe my eyes are just deceivers false-believers little whisper-catching reapers that twist the way your lips contour and save that mp3 corrupted but I can’t just help but notice the whispers aren’t interrupted
you don’t think I see because there’s nothing to see and they aren’t taunting me because I’m nobody so show me ‘round like your prize-pet-pup and let those fellas lift me up and measure me with every eye from every angle biceps to thighs and let ‘em see they could take me and put me down with two swift jabs but know I’m downed already; stick this rat back in his lab

And I feel less of me's still part of me and more of me's just gone
There's some of me left bottled and the streetlight's shadow turns sundial until
It's time to go time to go time to get up and leave it behind
Bottles left at bus stations, maybe you've seen 'em
But I sure don't know what happens when some one comes 'round to clean 'em
Well see the bottled bits of me still me
I left behind in Fullington and there's
miles of road between us and the grass
looks awful green over there and there
but I'm walking the asphalt, cracked and
holy like my path of redemption to lose
myself not find myself
I'm not playing hide and seek, no I'm
playing hide and Hyde, got a bottle for the cure-all
That I've shoved myself inside
And I'll drop it in my pocket, so take a gander there
Tell me what you see in me, in the bottle's curly hair
I used to think I was the coat but now I see I'm rodent
This rat's just sniffed the catnip, now he's belly-up and bloated
That's not my path, that's not for me, so tie my little feet
Heave-**, heave-**
And off I go
Wrapped in that corduroy
Heave-**, heave-**
And off I go
Nothing but a stupid boy

Spirits whisper from their glasses as they slip from mouth to mouth
And frigid fingers feel the way to let the cirrus crystals out
And ghostly gasps surround and bound from wall to window sash
As irons souls with oxidation from their glassy prison dash
'I am rust; wilt thou hold me?' silent whisper floats in quick
Before you answer, a breath unheld beheads the flame on candle wick

I lick my fingers after they've been
inside
I picture your face
Sticky sweetness on my tongue
Desire rises hot within me and my fingers
return
Dipping into your jar of jam

Depression and I, we wear the same faces
We're in the same places; I see him in the mirror
Maybe depression isn't real—maybe that's the twist
Maybe depression is my twin I ate in the womb
Maybe depression is my shadow, my impending tomb
Maybe depression is a word I made up years ago
An excuse for my brain bending backwards to find
The right words to explain what it's doing
I don't know what it's doing
It seems to
Maybe I'm not real—maybe that's the twist

“Everything is fine” and that’s not great
See, fine is what you leave on a car in a wrong spot
Punishment for where you shouldn’t be
Fine is the end after the signs
:S: Everything is fine
But it’s not great
And you see, I’d like to think I strive for greatness
I feel wrapped in a repeat
On a treadmill to nowhere
As the screens beside, around me
Change; teasing little lights that dance
Like a marionette, so too I dance
Or so it feels
Strings which tug and hold
S.S.D.D.; D.S. all fine.

You’ve been moved two tiers, eh?
Underfoot you feel a table
And you are, for them
You had been a diminutive seat, but
Have been hereby promoted to ottoman.
A fire hazard you may present at present
But a greater gift to weary walkers than an
Ottoman, there is yet to be.
Count your cushions, and your lucky stars
Will find you warmed by heated sitters
‘Til around comes a professor
A second scolding to deliver
And an ottoman to demote
To lowly seat.