This isn’t special
Just words I made up
It doesn't even rhyme
And no matter how many times
I rewrite these lines
I won't convince you otherwise
You run so far
You dress your scars
In finest Sunday wear
But you weren't really there
Just disappear
You search for meaning
A conscience streaming
Screaming these empty words
To an empty room
Filled with strangers
You run so far
You dress your scars
In finest Sunday wear
But you were never really there
Finding nowhere
Walking hand in hand in quicksand
Driving drunk on gasoline
Swerving in between
A mass of lovers, haters and crooks
Get out, darling, while you still got your looks
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