Messy conclusion.

I've got confusion in my illusionist type thinking, bearing the weight of the unfair sun.
So tell me why is there a table with my name on the top with instruments, intriguing me.
So slow, so soft falling for the impression you want me to be.

I cut it out again and again but it comes back like a sweet slip knot...
Like tie around my neck, cutting me off at the tongue.
But I find a coincidence in my thinking, of talking back.
I shake my head and weep again and again, wanting to just leave...

Cause I've got a list of things to say to a few of you, intimate and appropriate.
Like "You've got to quit kidding your self.
I'm not listening to you. To a bully in sheep's skin.
Or scientist with jaded ideals and odd factors."
It's just sick to me.

To sell out the concrete beneath my feet. Tearing me down with a template.
I'm not fitting in because my nose is crooked and my eyes are too deep.
Especially for swimming in a poisoned well for children to sink in, and believe.

Believe me it's not easy saying "F**k you." to people who might have loved you.
If they'd try to see past the blind sight and into the night, please understand....
I've got confusion in my illusionist type thinking, bearing the weight of the unfair sun.

I cut it out again and again but it comes back like a sweet slip knot...
Like tie around my neck, cutting me off at the tongue.
But I find a coincidence in my thinking, of talking back.
I shake my head and weep again and again, wanting just to leave.
The worst behind, just to stumble on my own speech.
I feel like I need my eyes to be bleached, but I find a coincidence in my thinking, of talking back.