Still It Sells

Nothing ever came so easy as
The manipulation of her word
Cold and humiliated
I tried to portray this mess

I should fear it
I should give it all to them and be done with it
I should give it all to them and be done with it
I fear he maybe found a use
A meaning or comprehension
Some sort of new birth or late coming death

Whose eyes will
Govern this
This judgment?
It's just not my place
To judge who
Tried or to
Condemn
Who cried

I want to be her, I want all of the
Answers, a crusty and scratchy mess
Shielded only by burlap and the satisfaction
Of knowing, but I know nothing
I am the impostor, the fake bastard
Holding on to dreams, I want all the answers

I won't wince at each neck's snap, nor help at the hint of hope
I'll just lie here wet and willing to provoke you
Still no closure, cold is so damn trite
And evil was never glamorous, still it sells so fucking buy it

As politics
Mean nothing

As it's already
In their heads, it resides a mark
So I leave mine as well
To finally be picked apart
Dissected and forgotten
Ignored at best
But it is still a mark
She gave me rope

And I climb