The Artist

Still trying to prove something Still trying to never sink Below This darkness But every night I sing this solemn lullaby And wonder why Oh why I let It get this bad Bear my teeth shiny and sharp Cry to sleep and then restart The artist and her art Let thoughts consume my mind Then you burn up all my time Left with nothing Nothing Sell my soul What's mine is yours No buyers left for all the damaged goods I shall create What will be great Until the life I've made comes to eat me Rocks thrown at the storm A perfect metaphor For this lack Of control And every night I hope I'll learn to get it right Dying and coming back Bear my teeth shiny and sharp Fall to sleep and fall apart Always in disguise Let thoughts consume my time Then I burn away my mind I'm nothing Nothing Sell my soul What's mine is yours No buyers left for all the damaged goods I shall create What will be great Until the life I've made comes to kill me And I still want it Even now I still want it Even now Bury all the bad parts Leave only Shimmering blue Buried in the backyard Who I was With you Sell my soul What's mine is yours No buyers left for all the damaged goods I shall create What will be great Until the life I've made Comes