I tried my damnedest to kill the monster in my mind
But I can still feel it 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 everything I've said, gone bad
Dig up those old ghosts and lay 'em on the table
If I feel like feeling badly, I'll poke 'em with a stick
But don't tell me what I need cause I've herd 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 won't relent
Dig up those old ghosts and lay 'em on the table
If I feel like feeling badly, I'll poke 'em with a stick
But don't tell me what I need cause I've herd it all before
I don't need your help in picking myself apart
I don't need your help in picking myself apart
Dig up those old ghosts and lay 'em on the table
If I feel like feeling badly, I'll poke 'em with a stick
But don't tell me what I need cause I've herd it all before
I don't need your help in picking myself apart
I don't need your help in picking myself apart