I'm lying here in bed, swear my skin is inside-out.
Just another Sunday morning.
See my diary on the newsstand, seems we've lost the truth to quicksand.
It's a shame no one is praying, 'cause these voices in my head keep saying, "Love, just don't stare."
"Reveal the word when you're supposed to."
Withdrawn and introverted, infectiously perverted, being left out and confused keeps us pleasantly abused enough to stay.