The catch-22's that I'm in love with you,
suffering so much pain trying to attain your affection,
hopeless blood flowing through my body
pouring like rain through an open vein,
the gash you left bleeding, it's guna need some stitchin',
damaged heart, soul, mind, nerves, insane- guna take neurosurgery
to the brain to fix this,
I'm guna miss the bliss of your kiss,
and the touch of your hands to my skin,
but of course I'm just spittin' stereotypical mush again-
like million of others that Cupid left in unremittin'
loneliness,
a simple choice between yes or no could change all this-
but will you make the right choice?
Help doesn't come to the voiceless, so I'm lettin' out my voice
shoutin' to my echo, even if just to vent the madness,
and if someone wants to lighten up on their ears and release their deafness,
then so be it- they'll hear the rage of a bull on meth kicks,
they'll see a saint made of holy fire coming down planetside from an angel of destruction and
vanity, the one that God commissioned to make me,
to break me, and fake me
out with a sense of security and love,
well I'm not guna fall for that ruse once more- it'd take a lot to break
through this man's mind, 'cuz it's already been broken by heartbreak-
like a horse built to race going through it's own process of hazing,
breaking has made me tougher than steel layered adamantium.