The words that I need, Sit on the tip of my tongue, Before slipping down and getting caught in my throat. I'll choke, And starve, From all the things I should've said. And my God, How much more can I endure? I'm crumbling, Stress fractures, Compromising. How many times, Can I passively endure, The jeering of a crowd that's only seeing, A manufactured monster? A myth built out of lies and misdirection, Dripping from the lips that turn around, And reassure it's nothing. Just a bad dream now. Go back to sleep. At some point I decided, That having the worst of you, Was better than not having you at all. At some point I decided, That having the worst of you, Was better than not having you at all. But now I've got nothing left of me. Nothing left of me. I've got nothing left of me. I've got nothing. I've got nothing. At some point I decided, That having the worst of you, Was better than not having you at all.