I want to talk about how I always sound rude
I want to talk about how they say I’m a fake prude
Want to scream my agonizing pains in glory,
How little I care, how little I’m moved.
Want to share how he was never there
Want to blame on everything how it wasn’t just fair
to be high-horsed and every time that I burst
I want to say that I just wasn’t aware.
I want to make a few cuts and bruises
on my hand, and for my deeds, just give few excuses
and never take it on me on how I behaved
and just mumble on, let the listener become clueless.
I want to start again, but life won’t allow it
And, in some metaphysical sense, she tells me to tow it
To stop the tears coming out off the fake ether
And she tells me to incessantly just to move it.
But I cannot lie, in despair I find some pleasure so bright
And I got a lot to tell so keep your ears open wide,
How little I cared, I just wasn’t aware
It’s all ending soon, just not tonight.