Another morning, another bed
Your front to the wall
Slink out the front gate again
I’m the worst of them all
Your friends are full of shit
You’re good for just one thing
And you’re not really any good at that anyway
I can’t wait to sit in this room and count mistakes that I have made
Maybe I’ll leave here soon
Cut off all your hair and alter your façade
But you’re still the same toxic wretch beneath it all
Maybe tomorrow I won’t wake with this awful thumping in my head
Maybe I won’t wake at all
Again I’m wasting another day
Spent waiting around here
Praying for my hate to dissipate
My mantra is unclear
Cause everything happens in the scent of a second
The sleight of your hand is a force to be reckoned
Dexterity aside, I expected more
Your meaning is fleeting and your presence is the tool