The bruises are quiet though visually stunning. The work of his hands left the palms so red.
Hard as a pinwheel, cold as a carpenter; being lost doesn't mean you were misled.
And the gate of the man swings left then right with a message so clearly that states no trespassing,
But how can anyone avoid him when he walks that way? Being red-handed doesn't mean you are guilty.

So I heard of your feelings, you've cracked on the inside. The suits have been filed, but you are not liable.
I heard you need money; you called up your broker, but all the paper you get, wouldn't buy back the bible.
Cause you didn't write it, though you think that you might've. I'm sorry that everything fell down this way.
But you didn't fasten it up against a stationary object; I hate to say it, there must've been a screw loose.

You were right in asking me do I feel your pain. You were so wrong about everything else.

I'm your baby, I'm your baby, maybe, Baby I'm the one.
I'll go back to prove that I still can make my move. I'll take my lessons and you'll sit there and gloat.
I'll make you see, I'll get my full degree, but I'll be learning from the last textbook that I wrote.

Back in the morning, when I woke in tears, you scolded me for being too much like a woman.
You told me I needed a pinch on the arm. Don't worry, it's not the pinch that caused me harm.
Don't be surprised if I don't like your food. I guess it's only natural to wonder what I'm biting.
You scolded me for being too much like an emotional sister, but that doesn't change that my brother
just bit the dust .

Fake is a word that means simply confused. A gun is a poet that doesn't be quiet.
Potential can never be measured with sex. Protection is not the true gesture of love.
And the struggle that plagues you and sits on your lap combines with suspicion that I've found my thorn.
I know you think that the shit has finally hit the fan. Not really, cause I'm the one standing in it..