i bought my face you little whores my skin reeks of self deception where scars meets bone and fades why teenage boys have nothing to say except my money was well paid i sold my sight little white lies my fingers are made of something i created some count sheep to fall asleep but i just feel my marred curved spine feed it back a soul searching theorist wants to marry an ugly drunken idealist right here is where it rained crimson my blood is blue upon my wrist but hot on my silver razorblade kiss i stole my looks you little punks if you think that heat radiates from puckering mouths then ill send my thoughts out loud my feet move with the littlest grace but i always leave them feeling amazed my words are eccentric my thoughts are not still after im through i dont know what ive got