| Tell me what to feel, show me that I’m real
|
| Hands like mine fall off in time holding on
|
| Just tell me what to feel, show me that I’m real
|
| Hands like mine fall off in time holding on to pain
|
| I’ll collapse on the bed singing songs of self-atrophy
|
| Till my voice breaks down (breaks down!) this static lullaby
|
| Cause the bedroom is just a mausoleum built for me
|
| Bring me back to life (alive!), it’s haunting me
|
| (Hey!) These finger tips are growing numb to touch
|
| (Hey!) Who knew I’d miss these emotions this much?
|
| (These finger tips are growing numb to touch)
|
| (Can you touch me?)
|
| How do I live a lifetime speaking without empathy?
|
| Till my mind breaks down (breaks down!) behind these glassy eyes
|
| But it’s all just a prelude to the next five centuries
|
| Emptiness won’t end (the end!), goes on and on and on
|
| Tell me what to feel, show me that I’m real
|
| Hands like mine fall off in time holding on
|
| Just tell me what to feel, show me that I’m real
|
| Hands like mine fall off in time holding on to pain
|
| These nerves have frozen over, they cannot decode your sentiments
|
| There’s no place lonelier than the vast abyss inside my head
|
| Where’s my chemical cocktail? |
| Where’s my cure for reticence?
|
| Please, tell me I’m wrong here! |
| Can’t you show me that I’m real?
|
| (Tell me what to)
|
| These finger tips are growing numb to touch
|
| Who knew I’d miss these emotions this much?
|
| These finger tips are growing numb to touch
|
| Can you touch me?
|
| Just tell me what to feel, show me that I’m real
|
| Hands like mine fall off in time holding on to pain
|
| Just tell me what to feel, show me that I’m real
|
| Hands like mine fall off in time
|
| Tell me what to feel, show me that I’m real
|
| Hands like mine fall off in time holding on
|
| Just tell me what to feel, show me that I’m real
|
| Hands like mine fall off in time holding on to pain |