It’s a compulsion really out of my hands
To tell you all about you making all the wrong plans

But I grind my teeth,
And I’m picking this scar
Anything to make it through
A night at the bar

Leave me with flat teeth, with fresh wounds,
Another nervous tick,
Please leave me on the kitchen floor,
With my dignity while I get sick
Bleed me out like an open sore
Say its me that makes you a whore
Go ahead blame the moon and sun, then deny me
Because that’s what makes this fun.

You're just a symptom
You're just a symptom
You're just, your just a symptom
You're just a symptom, your just
You're just a symptom
Just a symptom

Bleed me out like an open sore
Say its me that makes you a whore
Go ahead blame the moon and sun, then deny me
Because that’s what makes this fun