I built myself up from broken parts But an autoclave is a good place to start The more I write, the more I feel like a fraud: Playing with fire, not praying to a god They say hell is a place where the devil makes Something you love into something you hate But I have grown happy in ruts of repetitive shame But I've got good bones I tore myself down into broken parts, This well-oiled machine was a good place to start: Pep-talks wasted in prep school -- That ego-stroking cesspool Left me with spit-shine on these new shoes, I never wore them right so I sing my blues: Security is expensive, Im on a conveyer belt to a life I don't want to live: "Bootstraps," "the American dream," Well I've spent enough time with gravel in my knees To know these streets aren't gold They're asphalt and concrete Your suffering is not unique, Trade comfort for sweat and trade blood in for ink I've got good bones Aesthetically, I cannot compete My muscles have near atrophied But I've got good bones Potential