Hiding in the backdrop of a stage.
Beneath the cracks of the wood.
I am ready to turn my crinkling page.
I need to do it for my own good.

Lethal I am if I remain still shattered.
Collecting myself in this lying turmoil.
Although my thoughts remain scattered.
I am placing out some new, untainted soil.

I tell of vegetarian attributes I now behold.
To cover up that this food is tainted.
Although it's 90 in Minneapolis, it's cold.
So I create a distorted, fabricated painting.

Afraid of telling your own blood your thoughts.
When the beliefs are not to be shared.
My mind just withers and my stomach rots.
How to tell them - I feel so unprepared.

Guide me to the help I lack and need.
For I am so confused in my own body.
I just beg for someone to hear my creed.
Because I am not who I embody.