

Two-oo million words...
Used to love the raw drafts.
Now the stone is carved out...
Same brain.
New route.
But you're stand-ing in the past.
You say
you miss the old me...
Like the pain is-n't true.
Au-dit-ing the fi-re... While you're stand-ing in the spark.
You love the picture
Till you question the frame.
You call it brilliant...
Till I give it a name.
(shhh) If the heart-break is real...
If the feel-ing is mine...
Tell me why it’s a crime...
To let a ghost help me find
my
rhyme.
Yeah, it's still me...
You love the picture
But hate the machine
Yeah, it's still me...
You love the picture
But hate the machine
(I sound a little better though)