Sitting in the woods, you and me alone Thinking that train-wrecked boy wasn't the only one to die here and be shown
What pieces of flesh, what scraps of skin are taken out and passed around at recess, wherein
I'm ugly, hungry, only one loser, jaded, tired, I think I smell a fire.
Better than before it wasn't walking through the door Always on my floor, calling me a whore Always on my mind, with me half the time Sneaking up and threatening what's mine.
I'm ugly, hungry, I'm only one loser I fought it, I fight it, I fear I might like it I'm sorry. I do.