I want so badly to believe in the world in the magazines: better homes, life refined. But I’m without a catalyst, without the glossy print. I’m wearing thin, like the conscience of a funeral arranger. Wearing thin and breathing fast, shallow breaths. Don’t look this way because I’ll pull you in faster than you can say ‘GQ’. You’ll be all I have; you’re fucked. Time owns my body, and my mind. Escape is on my mind. Life redefined: cyclical days of waking, working, and regretting. Listen. Hear that void? It’s me.
Lyrics submitted by kylejackson