The Killer

The tips of my fingers are calloused
Napkins full of lyrics strewn across the floor
There's a thickening air of frustration
And a scavenger hunt for a vague metaphor
I'm a killer, an anchor, a barstool
I'm a soldier, a vagrant, a merchant, a god
And my heart is a black hole, a signpost
It's the only way I can feel normal at all

Is to keep writing words and keep crossing them out
To pull out my hair and then curse at the sound
That evolves from my mouth
When the song becomes noise, becomes pain

I will try every time zone, each room of the house
Search for new inspiration from old stomping grounds
But I'm sitting, not standing, not living
Creating in vain from a false misery

I don't want to give the song away this time
I don't want to give the song away this time
Once it hits someone's ears and it's no longer mine
It's my rock, and it needs to stay mine

This blood on my hands marks my
This blood on my hands marks my
And I'm still the killer