hang my eyes up
on a hook
swells the panic;
i can't look
inside my own skin, i fail
to find my-
self again
a million faces look the same,
and their replies evaporate
there's no soul
behind these eyes, if
they can't glue me
back again
ghosts drop hints
and whisper things, just
blood and bone, and
bits of string;
blood and bone, and
bits of string
family portrait on the wall
quiet confusion, circle this:
i can feel
my mother's hand, but
i can't find her
face to kiss
there's no soul
behind these eyes, if
they can't glue me
back again
someone's life
inside a box;
othing here resets the clocks
ghosts drop hints
and whisper things, just
blood and bone, and
bits of string
blood and bone, and
bits of string