You've got a confession to make

because you broke a few rules this time

shot your lies don't break hearts

and without a hole in your head

being a martyr is just a tragic obsession

you watch with sick fascination, eager anticipation

as the cancer grows

amputated limbs and sunken eyes

that's the price you pay

to gaze into the crystal mist

and try to convince yourself that you're unforgettable

(but you're just the mysterious skeleton girl lurking in the shadows

horrifically distorted with a rope coiled around your throat

bleeding black and blue)

you've seen both heaven and hell

reflected in burning sunsets and shooting stars

but you don't know where you'd rather be

you're just stuck here with a flat tire and a smoking engine

and you've got no destination

(it gets a little complicated
when you find beauty in the breakdown)