This house is full of ears but I can't talk to anyone. They've heard this one a thousand times. Most exciting thing I do: hand halfway out of third floor windows, maybe throw lit cigarettes down. And maybe I'll catch fire. Something warm to hold me. Something pure to burn away the darkness that hides inside my mind. All that evil shit's not hard to find. I guess I only claim to be nice. This house is full of eyes but I can't look at anyone. They've seen this face a thousand times. Most relaxing thing I do: hand halfway out of third floor, look at rocks if I fall down. And maybe I'll fall hard. Something tough to break me. Something sharp to rip into my insides and bleed out all this pain. Sorry I don't even know your name. I guess for me it's easy this way.