| Sentiment sediment
|
| Along the skin
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| Batter it, better it
|
| Stain the canvas razor thin
|
| Open it, open it
|
| I didn’t look, I never noticed
|
| Better now, huh? |
| Better? |
| No
|
| A leisured lesion bleeds
|
| So…
|
| Hey there, are the scars I see self-inflicted?
|
| Do you carve yourself to be vindictive?
|
| Forbidden sleeves in the summer
|
| Cover the marks therapy invokes
|
| Spar with the wrist like an alpha
|
| Pressure to know the shame stuck in your throat, yeah
|
| Your eyes are dark and dangerous
|
| And now I notice that
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| You’re wanting to erase yourself
|
| I think I know but ask myself still…
|
| Hey there, are the scars I see self-inflicted?
|
| Do you carve yourself to be vindictive?
|
| And I wonder how you could do it…
|
| Does the laceration free the rot within?
|
| I’m dying to view again
|
| I’m dying to be let in
|
| I’m dying to understand
|
| I want to see (I want to see)
|
| The greater cause (the greater cause)
|
| The way you cope (the way you cope)
|
| Will leave a mark
|
| Hey there, are the scars I see self-inflicted?
|
| Do you carve yourself to be vindictive?
|
| And I wonder how you could do it…
|
| Does the laceration free the rot within? |