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lyrics

The whispers
Behind my back
So loud I can hear every word
And accusation
It brings me
So near to collapse
I don’t know what I’ve done wrong
It scares the hell out of me
What they say
I’ve heard it for so long
So long
I want to run away
To where these hands can’t hurt me again
I want to fly away
To find a place where I don’t have to pretend
These hands are not wings
More like talons so sharp
That I am cut by them
My own hands tear me apart
I see the looks I get from strangers
And acquaintances
They vilify me
And the hatred burns inside of them
I don’t know
What I’ve done wrong
But somehow I’ve done it again
Again…
(so turn these hands to wings)
I want to run away
To where these hands can’t hurt me again
I want to fly away
To find a place where I don’t have to pretend
These hands are not wings
More like talons so sharp
That I am cut by them
My own hands tear me apart
I want to run away
To where these hands can’t hurt me again
I want to fly away
To find a place where I don’t have to pretend
These hands are not wings
More like talons so sharp
That I am cut by them
My own hands tear me apart

credits

from The Book of the Grotesque, released October 22, 2013

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Mimic the French Cambridge, Massachusetts

Mimic the French is Ben Cox, born and raised in Cambridge MA.

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