Low in lonesome and no place I'd rather be
Slow to function, so ungracefully
I pose, I mimic
I do what I do to fit in
So cold, indifferent
It's seldom I'm empathetic, dull forgiveness
There's a ceiling on existing in a way
There's a lis of reasons I do what I can't explain
Sulk into isolation
Love
Hate
Desire no such things
Put my faith in suffering
Pain: all I need
Let it build up and break me
And maybe enough to bleed
I trusted the instinct enough that it set me free
Pain: all I need
There is no being content for me
The ceiling is low and it's lowering
There is no means to an end for me
I want out
