| Cursed by my imagination
|
| Teaming with echoes of situations
|
| I do not feel well, pressed beneath this spell.
|
| Polishing my social skills
|
| With one more drink, and two more pills.
|
| I do not feel good, I thought by now I would.
|
| But then again…
|
| It’s like one thousand papercuts,
|
| Soaked in vinegar.
|
| Like the battles with yourself,
|
| That leave you insecure.
|
| It’s all just a numbing charade,
|
| Until the day you finally wake up And you’re not,
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| Afraid.
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| Bound by my own disposition
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| The endless hunt to find fruition
|
| I’m insatiable, even if my cup is full.
|
| My soar throats are now routine,
|
| I 'Gotta write those songs, make 'em scream.
|
| They’re insatiable, even if their ears are full.
|
| But then again…(But then again…)
|
| It’s like one thousand papercuts,
|
| Soaked in vinegar.
|
| Like the battles with yourself,
|
| That leave you insecure.
|
| It’s all just a numbing charade,
|
| Until the day you finally wake up And you’re not,
|
| Afraid.
|
| It’s like one thousand papercuts,
|
| Soaked in vinegar.
|
| Like the battles with yourself,
|
| That leave you insecure.
|
| It’s all just a numbing charade,
|
| Until the day you finally wake up And you’re not,
|
| Afraid |