I tried my damnedest to kill the monsters in my mind
But I can still hear them writhing and contriving all the time
It's the rolling of the riot, built regret of a self-made pain
It's the echo of every thing I said gone bad
So dig up those old ghosts and lay them on the table
If I feel like feeling badly, I'll poke ém with a stick
But don't tell me what I need, cause I've heard it all before
I don't need your help in picking myself apart
I don't need your help in picking myself apart
The moss, still dank from weather, fights the violent October sun
And it burns away the victory of every battle I've ever won
Now the suicide brigade is stepping time on the debts I owe.
And the banging of their drums wont relent
So dig up those old ghosts and lay them on the table
If I feel like feeling badly, I'll poke ém with a stick
But don't tell me what I need, cause I've heard it all before
I don't need your help in picking myself apart
I don't need your help in picking myself apart
So dig up those old ghosts and lay them on the table
If I feel like feeling badly, I'll poke ém with a stick
But don't tell me what I need, cause I've heard it all before
I don't need your help in picking myself apart
I don't need your help in picking myself apart
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