Squint your eyes and look closer I'm not between you and your ambition I am a poster girl with no poster I am thirty-two flavors and then some And I'm beyond your peripheral vision So you might want to turn your head Cause someday you might find you're starving and eating all of the words you said.

Every time I say something they find hard to hear, they chalk it up to my anger, and never to their own fear.

How come I can pick my ears, but not my nose? Who made up that rule anyway? How can you say that's the way it is, that's just the way it goes, why don't you decide fore yourself what you can do?

The old farm roads a four lane that leads to the mall, and our dreams are all guillotines waiting to fall.

I would rather have these things weigh on my mind. At the end of this tunnel of guilt and shame, there must be a light of some kind.

The way I play guitar is very, very hard and I bloody myself incredibly without the tape. And the nails are my picks.

I use my dress to wipe up my drink, I care less and less what people think.