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Biting keeps your words at bay |
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Tending to the sores that stay |
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Happiness is just a gash away |
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When I open a familiar scar |
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Pain goes shooting like a star |
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Comfort hasn't failed to follow so far |
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And you might say it's self-indulgent |
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You might say its self-destructive |
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But, you see, it's more productive |
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Than if I were to be healthy |
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And pens and penknives take the blame |
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Crane my neck and scratch my name |
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But the ugly marks |
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Are worth the momentary gain |
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When I jab a sharpened object in |
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Choirs of angels seem to sing |
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Hymns of hate in memorandum |
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And you might say it's self-indulgent |
|
And you might say it's self-destructive |
|
But, you see, it's more productive |
|
Than if I were to be happy |
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And sappy songs about sex and cheating |
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Bland accounts of two lovers meeting |
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Make me want to give mankind a beating |
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And you might say it's self-destructive |
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But, you see, I'd kick the bucket |
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Sixty times before I'd kick the habit |
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And as the skin rips off |
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I cherish the revolting thought |
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That even if I quit |
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There's not a chance in hell I'd stop |
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And anyone can see the signs |
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Mittens in the summertime |
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Thank you for your pity |
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You are too kind |
|
And you might say it's self-inflicted |
|
But you see that's contradictive |
|
Why on earth would anyone practice self destruction |
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And pain opinions are sitcom feeding |
|
They don't know that their minds are teething |
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Makes me want to give mankind a beating |
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I've tried bandages and sinking |
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I've tried gloves and even thinking |
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I've tried vaseline |
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I've tried everything |
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And no-one cares if your back is bleeding |
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They're too concerned with their hair receding |
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Looking back it was all maltreating |
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Every thought that occurred misleading |
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Makes me want to give myself a beating |
