| Some lines oh why did I write I have to repeat them night after night
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| Yes you can tell me I control my life but I feel humbled and I feel obliged
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| I miss not caring if what I make is good
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| And I miss the unproductive bullshit I love
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| And I miss my friends even more
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| And I get scared we aren’t friends anymore
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| Congrats to me for coming so far
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| Me rushing round Britain with a guitar making love to myself
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| How could I call it anything else?
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| I ruminate on the cognitive space where all contemplation is going it waste
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| Revolve through a cycle a figure of eight
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| I think about thinking about me
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| I know I am trying too hard
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| Always publicly trying too hard
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| I want to be cool and effortless
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| But every little thing is so much effort
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| I wonder what you think
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| The royal you
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| The chosen few
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| I wonder how I cause these stinks
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| To act natural is to be vulnerable
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| And so what’s the real goal
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| Is it just to be worshiped
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| As a way to like myself
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| Well I won’t think I deserve it
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| What I posit as a cure
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| It becomes evidence thereof
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| Of my fakery and flaws
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| And as the layers are torn off
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| And I return to my own space
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| With time alone inside my head
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| I’m still faced with who I am
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| And all I keep unsaid
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| What are you gonna do
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| What are you trying to do
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| What are your goals
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| Are you goal oriented?
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| So what’s the real goal
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| With any influence comes cowardess
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| The power projected on me
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| In the end makes me feel powerless
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| I’m paranoid, and yet perpetually interacting
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| With realms to build persona despite how it’s impacting
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| My ego and my friendships and my mental health
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| I hope I can transcend it but it’s my whole sense of self
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| So what the real is it to touch people with experiences which I’ve weaves into
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| fiction
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| To share my thoughts and beliefs of which I hold no real conviction
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| Become constructive contradiction so that you can learn from me
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| From the safety of my pedestals built from fallacies
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| I know I’m the fickle fucker
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| I know I am the selfish lover
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| I know I sad and undeserving
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| I know am privileged and I am also hurting
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| I keep being told the importance of self love
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| Some days I think I don’t hate myself enough
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| And if you relate does that make you bad?
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| And for making you relate does that make me bad?
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| And do I glorify what it is to be sad?
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| Should you just turn off? |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Deep Down I'm Really Mark Smith, artist - Crywank. Album song Fist Me 'Til Your Hand Comes out My Mouth, in the genre