I see through that picture perfect veneer

Down to that concealed conceited sneer

Yes, I see through your fa├žade of perfection

That everyone greets with good reception

But maybe since I just wanna kill you

Maybe that's why no one else sees what I do

My head's little voices call you bad

And I won't dare make them mad

'Cause then one jumps to your defense

Then one other calls it dense

You're a demon, as one insists

One mediates, yet the others persist

And everyone I've met is insane

They say I've got MPD and you are my main

And apparently you've got a voice

Who's angry and cruelly hateful

Ha! As if I've got a choice

I let you exist, so be grateful