| They think that I’m crazy.
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| I know that I’m not,
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| but their words keep coming back to haunt me.
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| A book falls off the shelf.
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| How can I trust myself?
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| When I’m alone I’m never by myself.
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| I flip through the pages.
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| Every word is sedating.
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| The hairs stand up on the back of my neck,
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| the words read «Your heart is black.»
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| I’ve decayed on the inside,
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| poisoned by the judgment of man.
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| I can feel the nails hammered in my hand.
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| Crucified like swine, but the meat goes to waste,
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| because you can’t stand the taste.
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| Internal war wages.
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| I bled these words on to the pages.
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| The hair stands up on the back of my neck.
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| The words read «Your heart is black.»
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| I’m starting to believe it my self.
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| The voices in my head need to be bled.
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| After a while of hearing «You're insane,»
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| You start to doubt yourself and wonder if it’s in your head.
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| Maybe I am.
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| I pull out the nails hammered in my hand.
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| You’re all laughing now,
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| but in the end we’ll see who’s laughing,
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| when the judgment you pass is what destroys you all.
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| Maybe I am insane.
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| I’ll be pushing up daisies.
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| I know that I’ll rot.
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| I’ll rot the man I am,
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| not the man that they want me to be. |