I don't like the things that i do.
Anymore than who i do them to.
I don't care for the reflection when it catches my eye.
I don't like the numbness i feel
If it's numb why do i feel it still?
I don't care for the sound of the stairs when you go.
Who i am hates who i was.
And who i is don't know because
A line doesn't know it's part of a square.
Maybe you'll find me in there.
I don't like the story's i tell
Doesn't matter that i tell them well.
I don't buy the happy endings you're trying to sell
I don't like this negativity
The creative ruins of history
I don't care for that bourgeois sense of self.
Who i am hates who i was.
And who i is don't know because
A line doesn't know it's part of a square.
If an empty box is all you own
At least you have that box to hold
Practice you're whole life at letting it go.
The way all things must go
Words and music by robb 12:34 a.m.
Sgnrobb.com