I wish I could write this out of me, bleed it into an inkwell and write until it's all gone
I think I might sell my soul to get rid of this pain
The trick there is that I know my soul is already broken; it's not worth much
But we shan't tell that to the buyer, and he or she will never know
(they'll find out, of course, cause you can't hide that kind of thing
well, you can, but it just breaks you more
If I'm already broken does it matter if I get more broken?)
I'm tired

Rock me to sleep
I can feel tomorrow coming