i like carrying around the dead parts of me
even in the face of life
even given the choice

the dead things are grounding, happiness is too free
each step i take is heavy
each moment i waste, fulfilling

there is a hole that's back again
it has made it's way around the wheel again
why do i have a need to fill this hole again
that spot is decaying inside again

in between here and there
i want to take you with me
instead of suffering alone
i am selfish and i am scared