There must be a line between functional poetry
And self-flagellation
With a beat and a melody
These songs I've been writing
Are ever increasingly lists of my vices and fears
I tell myself that It's Art Because Honesty
But honestly, honesty hasn't been good to me
Lies and adrenaline are natural medicines
I'll take a nap while they steer

Like a shitty MacGyver
I improvise problems with everyday objects
Here's one I built out of milk jugs and matchsticks
So even when I'm in a twist about nothing
I still have the comfort of sucking at something
And I still apologise mostly on reflex
Shut down your feelings
Wallow and disconnect
But it's not my fault
It's just one of the side-effects
It's going to be like this for weeks

This is just what I need
It's just what I need
When do the symptoms begin to recede?
It's just what I need
It's just what I need
I feel the heat of your head on my cheek
Maybe together
We might be better
More than the sum of what makes us both weak
Before you arrive and I let you inside,
Promise you'll leave
When my shit gets old, honey
Promise you'll leave