Men Don't Come Back From The Dead

                                    

                                          
You're in your head, trapped in chaotic and intrinsic thoughts of an easier life;
Wouldn't it be easier if you just let it all go, if you just died? 
Conversations with killers, finding all things tame in every goddamn thriller.
Do you ever wish you escaped it all;
That you could never answer that call?
Where are you? 
My baby boy, 
Beaten blue, 
A junky of joy.
But if I open my mouth, and out pours all of my insides,
You'd murder me for this social suicide, 
All my thoughts, my insipid demons, 
Lacking any rhyme or fucking reason, 
Would come out to play; 
In all kinds of ways. 
If I open my mouth, and out pours all of my insides, 
You'd murder me for this social suicide. 
A prisoner of the past, a future frantic, 
You will never last, paralysed in a certain panic. 
I've always tried to help you through it, 
Clean up every drop of this word vomit,
But you smash my decency into smithereens, 
You'll never get those bloodstains out of your jeans. 
Come on, where are you?
My fucking everything, 
Broken blue, 
Come back to me.
But if I open my mouth, and out pours all of my insides,
You'd murder me for this social suicide, 
All my thoughts, my insipid demons, 
Lacking any rhyme or fucking reason, 
Would come out to play; 
In all kinds of ways. 
If I open my mouth, and out pours all of my insides, 
You'd murder me for this social suicide. 
You can have him instead, 
Men don't come back from the dead. 
You can have him instead, 
Men don't come back from the dead; unless they live inside my head. 
But if I open my mouth, and out pours all of my insides,
You'd murder me for this social suicide, 
All my thoughts, my insipid demons, 
Lacking any rhyme or fucking reason, 
Would come out to play; 
In all kinds of ways. 
If I open my mouth, and out pours all of my insides, 
You'd murder me for this social suicide.