The morning woke you with me lying next to you,
a shrouded rag doll, your own private lie.
It's not just that you don't see me here, and it's not just that in there you hate me.
Too much light will turn you blind
but if you see only darkness that's all you will find.

Cuz it seems like you're burning, maladjusted mess of a man.

Oh, I know I'm just another itch, an undone stitch, a wicked, wicked witch.
Maybe I'm your mother.
Or, I'm your dead lover.
And yes, I might be your foe, but I could be your f*cking saint and you wouldn't know.

Cuz it looks like you're burning, maladjusted mess of a f*ckin man.

I'm so sorry, but I can't be on board with your trip,
see, the ship you ride is sinking and I don't need to stick around to watch you burn to KNOW you're gonna burn,
to know you're gonna sink deep.
Change you're f*ckin channel.
Cuz, one of these days, you're gonna find what you're looking for, unless it finds you first.
But I truly hope that you do, but...
You can't hold me, you don't have the means...
So, you WON'T hold me, NO. You're burning maladjusted, sad mess of a man.
And I'm not sorry.