I can often take all the fun out of this place. We 
could be like shapes reforming all from dust in stars 
and space. But we resign all the time. This is not what 
I asked for. I'm kind of wasted now with my head on the 
table recapping my own faults. And we defend ourselves 
before we touch the closest to us. I've got a hunger 
that needs replacement but your skin is soft and white 
like I remembered it. I could get off the fucking train 
now if I wanted to but I can't make decisions for 
myself. A father grabs his child by the arm, says, 
'Son, you'll know this pain someday soon. But I won't 
be here to advise you through it. But you could stop it 
if you don't trust anyone – they will all let you 
down.' For all you know, you should be afraid of what 
this can mean for you and me. I see we're not alone – 
they're watching me as I create and crumble up again. 
I've got my hands burnt up in flames. I wave them in 
hopes that traffic will stop or crash. And with my 
glasses fogging up, I find it better that way; I don't 
want to see the world for what it really is. But oh, my 
limbs wanted everything to do with you but I stayed 
home just to keep the wolves at bay. We create and 
crumble up. Now the words are coming out; I tried to 
push it down one more time, one more time, one more 
time. This is not what I hoped for and I often don't 
hope for much. I've got a hunger, it's been eating me. 
I've got a sickness and I'll give it to you. It prays 
on your body; it takes a while to reach the heart but 
when it's there you will feel it. I hope, I hope it 
won't tear you apart like it did the. Like it did me. 
For all you know, you should be afraid of what this can 
mean for you and me. For all you know, you've mistaken 
me for someone else, someone with a heart. For all the 
world is a shiny toy, the kids play with it and then 
wear it out. For all you know, you should be afraid of 
what this can mean for you and me.