| Was I wrong? | |
| Wrong in assuming | |
| That nothing at all, without thought | |
| Would just fall into place? | |
| Was it hope, that something would change me | |
| That led me to see the mistakes | |
| That had gutted my frame? | |
| Was it strength, yearning for purpose? | |
| Or weakness just desperately searching | |
| For something to fix? | |
| To create, from self-induced ruin | |
| To try and rebuild what remains from | |
| What I have destroyed | |
| Why'd I make it so hard? | |
| So quick to doubt? | |
| So ready to fuck myself over... | |
| Was it truth, logic or reason | |
| Disappointment of fear that led me | |
| To question all things | |
| Far beneath self-induced wreckage | |
| I rest in pathetic assurance | |
| That failure is safe | |
| Why'd I make it so hard? | |
| So quick to doubt? | |
| So ready to fuck myself again... | |
| Was I wrong? | |
| Wrong in assuming | |
| That nothing at all, without thought | |
| Would just fall into place? | |
| Was it hope, that something would change me | |
| That led me to see the mistakes | |
| That had gutted my frame? | |
| Why'd I make it so hard? | |
| So quick to doubt? | |
| So ready to fuck myself over | |
| So ready to fuck myself again... |
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