| I Scars on my wrist from Suburban wars I lived my life behind middle class bars My parents wanted so much But she wanted something else And when i wouldn't give it She left like the rest |
| STAGNATE REFLECTIONS |
| III I was taught to learn from my mistakes Like a good little Catholic girl I always obey Got punished on my knees And there I would pray Always seemed to happen more than it should But good girls don't ask why They just do as there told and Accept it when they die |
| II It seems like I'm just meant to be alone Seems like I'm meant to be hurt Seems like I'm always wrong I thing God's got a vendetta against me And She's not telling what I did |
| VI Don't call me unique It's an excuse for your mundane life to call me special And it makes me feel like a misprinted coin To be collected and set on a desk To be oohed and awed at I'm a product of my life The mere multiplaction of my enviroment times my reactions Not unique, just a different equation |
| V I hate questioning stares They won't ask; They wouldn't dare Just fill in the silence And make up your own version Never mind the truth in our prefabricated violence |
| IV But a non conformist like me Who'll ask questions And get slapped Doesn't really care about pain Doesn't really care about answers either Just wants to see the shock on your face Know I caused it and that i stood up |