I'd write you a novel, but you'd judge me.
And you'd say I'm a failed attempt at life, right?
So I maybe won't bother. I'll tear my eyes out.
Shave my head like you with a kitchen knife.

Well I've got feelings of my own, buried deep inside.
Paintings, letters, to a home,
That I tried to use to hide, but I'm living a lie.

Well I never made much of life so why start now?