Say it aloud and paint the walls in blood, your blood
No-one wants to listen to how you really feel
I've been forgetting this and that
And only holding on to what feels right.

Maybe I care too much
Maybe not at all.
I'm not sure where it begins and ends.
Does the promise of death scare me anymore?
Does drowning sorrows get old after a while?
Not to me.

I'm sorry I can't be the best, I really am.
If I was there, perhaps you could tell me the full story
And then what I heard wouldn't bother or scare me.
It's good to have something to share
Even when that something is the truth
And a worrying thing, nagging at you.

All I got left to tell you, is it hurts.
Pain and pain again, blotting out the colours
Making life monotone and monochrome
Killing me, selling me off piece by piece
So that we both might be
Easy targets.