| Stay. |
| No, don’t
|
| Go away. |
| Come close
|
| When I say what I want’s not the same as what I’ve done. |
| Oh no
|
| It’s coursing through my veins
|
| Coursing through my veins
|
| I’m out of control
|
| I can never tell when it’s over
|
| When I say what I want’s not the same as what I’ve done. |
| Oh no
|
| It’s coursing through my veins
|
| Coursing through my veins
|
| But I want control
|
| The jenga pieces were fucked from the start
|
| Cause everything that I touch falls apart
|
| There’s a faulty part of me resting, till it gets the best of me
|
| Let’s me reach for the structure and then it shoves on my arm
|
| I expect to be late — in a rush, cause it’s smart
|
| And it deafens my head to negate the buzz of the alarm
|
| Though I set it, I slept through it — wait… which one is the mark?
|
| And who meddled? |
| I wrestle with blame — while drunk up at the bar
|
| Then I’m shredded to death the next day — hungover, I march
|
| To the set of this expletive play, of what’s known as a farce
|
| This director resents and degrades
|
| I flub all of my parts
|
| And I exit the stage, yet I claim I’m numb to his remarks
|
| I’m an expert in lessening in pain, I cut over the scars
|
| So the flesh that is left can remain untouched, pure as the dawn
|
| But the second it festers, I rage. |
| Destruction of the facade
|
| Ain’t no guessing the recipe’s flavor, crunched under the char
|
| It’s excessive in plenty of ways, I’m stumped? |
| Then I restart
|
| Cause If it ain’t perfection, I fade — I run towards the dark
|
| Like there’s medicine kept in the shade — he crumples up the art
|
| I regressively step and the baby gets dumped with the water
|
| The penalty’s heft on mistakes is much heavier/harsh
|
| So, when I mess up — reset the game — and thus — never go farther
|
| A vet to rejection and hate, I’m huddled in my guard
|
| So instead when I’m sent a grenade, I can bump it out the park
|
| But he tends to deflect any praise, lumps it with the snark
|
| My perception is — yes, I’m afraid I’ll fumble at 1 yard
|
| I’m sweating whenever there’s bets to be placed, stuttering over the odds
|
| Leveraging a defensive delay, shuffling the cards
|
| I’m petrified of success and acclaim, he stumbles over the blocks
|
| Every hex is accepted with grace, he’s comfortable in the loss
|
| He projects, the trajectory’s safe, it’s control he can chart
|
| And it’s at the expense of his angst, He guns solo — it’s hard…
|
| Incessant delays does most of the harm
|
| And when a wave of depression came, he jumped over the barge
|
| And in my dread, I was led astray and I dug holes in my yard
|
| My ex suggested we separate, cause I suffocate with art
|
| But there were many more pressing plagues that were stuffed within our cart
|
| And then when I checked out, I felt my brain, I shut it in response
|
| Ain’t no prep for the sense of shame, when your woman knows you’ve lost —
|
| I felt dejected, my selfish ways, had crushed my lover’s heart
|
| And then my plus 1 departs, like they were plucked from the ark
|
| I temporarily end the ache with sluts, hoes and thots
|
| On the bus home I’m starving, cause my stomach’s full of knots
|
| And as I slept in this bed of blades — he’s puffing a cigar
|
| Cause he deceptively fed me bait, and drugged me with his charm
|
| It’s like a sedative — hence the haze, you’re somehow absolved
|
| Knowing there’s someone else in charge as you plummet and you fall
|
| I relent and self-deprecate, and publicize my flaws
|
| Turning these lemons to lemonade, in a punch filled with straws
|
| Everyone begs me to get a taste, it’s ugly but it’s strong
|
| As I struggle to evolve from a duck into a swan
|
| Yet this devil won’t let me change, he’s sunk in with his claws
|
| Until he collects every debt I pay, I’m stuck within these walls
|
| I’m living within an enemy state of mind, but instead of a stranger,
|
| penning these checks
|
| The evidence states, the enemy’s name is mine
|
| Stay. |
| No, don’t
|
| Go away. |
| Come close
|
| When I say what I want’s not the same as what I’ve done. |
| Oh no
|
| It’s coursing through my veins
|
| Coursing through my veins
|
| I’m out of control
|
| I can never tell when it’s over
|
| When I say what I want’s not the same as what I’ve done. |
| Oh no
|
| It’s coursing through my veins
|
| Coursing through my veins |
| But I want control
|
| I’m outta control and I want you to know that my mind is my foe,
|
| and it vies for the throne
|
| I’m trying to hold it inside, but it won’t
|
| Subside and it grows, unless I can oppose it by fighting to own
|
| What I’ve pridefully thrown to the side cause I’m prone to be private and closed
|
| So, writing this tome where I’m highly exposed, helps lighten the load
|
| Of the lies and loathing, the size of a boulder that’s tied to me
|
| Hope l survive to be old and wiser, bestowed with the spite that I’m owed from
|
| the life that I’ve broken — the price of atonement is dying alone
|
| And I’m out of control — And I’m driving it home
|
| Every wind in the road is the kind that erodes and behind me it’s broke
|
| I stay alive going forward and hide from my ghosts
|
| But this self-sabotage is a complex process where the conflict’s
|
| Brought upon by my own impulsive thoughts and then I’m haunted at night by them
|
| both
|
| I was psyched to propose, so hyper with goals, and despite this he chose,
|
| to incite a divorce
|
| And reclined as a drone in his stifling work, then he cries in remorse
|
| In a cycle of woe, it’s dividing my soul
|
| And one side’s got to go — but i cannot decide if I’m the parasite or the host
|
| Oh!
|
| There’s something wrong in my head
|
| That shouldn’t be there
|
| I’m out of control
|
| I’m out of control
|
| I’m out of control
|
| I’m out of control
|
| Don’t ever change. |
| Don’t ever change
|
| Cause it won’t change. |
| No it won’t change anyway
|
| So you can stay the way you are
|
| The way you are |