blood boils, typing, thinking, it's all work
my body in san diego, my mind in new york
true love is waiting in a gas station bathroom stall
where anger is a flickering light and a noise down the hall

the much talked-about weakness is a chain around my neck
it's fake, but no one cares enough to check
and so i survive along a modest route
giving off an air of a man filled with fear and doubt

but i know who i am, proud monster and all
growing stronger from the stillness of an unanswered call
never blooming into a smiling picture on a night stand
promising to change, and switching masks instead