For once everything is sprawled out amongst the disheveled lines of life
There is nothing up my sleeve, just the scars of a life that use to trouble me
But we all live double handed, turning a new page with old fingertips
Opening a new chapter after the last has been written set in stone and in tar
Burning everything that is left over watching the city burn
Collecting suet as though piecing together each memory and vaguely at that
But I guess it’s just a vie, you know, to prove how far you’ve come
And it’s just that need. The need to accept ourselves and our past that make those scars seem to large
We’d like to think that we’d make beautiful people but unfortunately reality doesn’t work that way