I am uninspired, I am havoc, scorching metal upon skin.
I am more than six feet under as a bitter inner city subway system.
I am purple and black coating on the waxy human figures behind glass.
I am superhuman sanity, I'm every bottle, every second chance.
And when I fall, I break, I shatter, I am only half a human, half disguise.
I am the cold in brisk November that reminds you how it feels to be alive.
How does it feel to be alive?

I'm not the breath in air of winter that turns your insides to frozen acid rain.
I'm not the child on street corners holding hands out for your pennies
and your cheap tourism parade.
I'm not a fallen angel's devil on the shoulder of your promised enemies.
I'm just a girl behind the desk behind the brain waves of your heart's best company.
Tell me, how's it feel to see?

I was once a baby in a blanket selling smiles at cheaper prices for the lies.
I was a mystery of icicles stuck hanging from the edges of the sky.
I was a lover in a corner staking out for simple possibilities.
I was an open-minded preacher with my hands out to the ceiling
keeping my ears open for inner symphonies.

I am, I'm not, I was you, just another fool
without the bonds of ropes and silhouettes resumed,
choking in the shadows in the gloom.
I only, only wanted the truth, to stand next to you
instead of sinking low below you.
Your fire's on the roof.

I am interested in your language as your head speaks true to those,
those who can satisfy their hunger with significant intensities of you.
Where were you on the sunny morning when the lives of those around me went to fall?
I am a human with no mission but survival; I don't need you after all.

I am, I'm not, I was you, just another fool
without the bounds of foreign limits, future dooms,
a book to tell me what to do.
I only, only want the truth,
but now I know to look myself and not look up to you.
My fire's on the roof.