I'm watching airplanes like missiles gliding straight for my pride
And all I can do is hold on for the ride
Somewhere in the tracks of the train of thought
I'm tied up in knots round the hand you forgot
I'm sickened and I'm twisted into your worst dreams
and what you think is a roar is a chorus of screams
I'm looking at a road that is spliced like a gene
Painted much too gaudy like a cut movie scene
I remember the emotional CPR and the shocks to the heart that went way too far
But the echoes and the hurt still tear me apart
Your two favorite words are "maybe" and "no"
You've used them so much they've become your M.O.
I'm famous for cold exteriors and cracked paint
You're infamous for prayer and acting just like a saint.
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