| I resort to impulse to escape the living
|
| Facedown in your indifference
|
| Waiting to fall in line
|
| And I was never impressed
|
| With your addiction to conscience
|
| Pain has long been the lost humiliation of genius
|
| And I’ve been misled to believe that I was alone
|
| it always turns out better this way
|
| Sedated so you won’t have to feel a thing
|
| I resort to impulse to escape the living
|
| Counting the imperfections
|
| Down the lines of my face
|
| When all the regrets and failures
|
| In you were so obvious
|
| Pain has long been the lost humiliation of the soul
|
| And I’ve been caught between
|
| What’s real and what’s for sale
|
| I’m not the one who profits
|
| From stainless masquerades
|
| I’ve come to terms with my fixations
|
| And all your failing attempts
|
| Faithful performances
|
| The timelessness of your act
|
| Won’t be the end of me |