At 22 I learned to stand up straight, but not out of pride
I'm just trying not to fuck up my spine
And I think I'm generous cause I want it in return, call me your Indian giver
I feel guilt, every time I step out and you're alone
Is there guilt for me?
And in a hazy sequence it caught up to me, when I was just looking for stability

Cause I'm exaggerating the boring parts, cause I wanna keep you captivated
And I don't think that I trust a god enough, to let him do my thinking for me
And I wish that I craved for what they craved, you know I wish I craved for the cliché
Do you get to decide what stain is left? And if you ever wash it out

Well it's just a roll of the dice, biting hard on my cheek
There's an imprint I map out with my tongue
And you try to relax me, in the parking lot
Of a second hand store and I think "I want it all or I want nothing"
What's the point in being patient if I can't wait for it?

"I want it all but I'll take a fraction"
I was over thinking, but my outline stayed the same

What was I trying to express in the car that day? When limited language
gave way to physical frustration, there is a steady chime
Of an empty frame you left
And I am questioning how I should fill it's place.

I came in, and you left