Music: Petri Samuel Hautala/Veela
Lyrics: Veela
I'm a don when it comes to respecting myself
I keep the dust off of each little thing on the shelf
I've got a seashell, plucked from the ocean too soon
I got a wolf figurine, howlin' up at the moon
I got a cactus, in a cup full of dirt
If I **** wit' it too much, guaranteed I'll get hurt
It innocently has spines do you think that it knows
That it'll never be loved on or be held close
It doesn't matter, it's just a ****in' plant right
Just give it some water and place it in the light
There's an instruction booklet that I received as a token
It's from the local garden center
Across the street that just opened
It's overpriced, but they sell all kinds of cactus stuff
Guess I never should have looked up cactuses last month
This cookie'll follow me 'til I'm in the grave
Or 'til my mic gets a kick out of something else that I say
I should really get to know me
There's a lot I have to say
That I don't have access to
If I was facin' me
Would I know how to hear
Her words that are mine too?
I hate you
I correct little things that don't need to be messed with
I let people walk all over me and say that I'm helpin'
Gotta stop listenin' to people who hurt my feelin's
Doesn't matter if they're close to me
Or think that they're bein' nice
I think they're missin' the meanin'
When you hurt me all I think is that maybe you're not hearing
The voice inside of you that tells you right from wrong
That you and yourself maybe don't get along
I should really get to know me
There's a lot I have to say
That I don't have access to
If I was facin' me
Would I know how to hear
Her words that are mine too?
I hate you
Face to face, skin to skin
You should let me in
Face to face, skin to skin
I can't get in
Let's take a look at the lower level of the bookcase in the front
I've been meaning to get rid of all this shit for months
Been keepin' tickets and trinkets
Only 'cause I don't want to give them up
Guess I'm grounded in my memories
And don't want to be beamed up
Back to watchin' what I say and watchin' what it does
And turnin' on my tech so I can feel the love
This mornin' on the radio I heard someone
Ask to play a song from 1991
(But that ain't me)
I look into the mirror and I turn into a savage
No one can be meaner to myself than me
It's better if it's clear so I make sure that I have it
Dusted up and down once or twice a week
I wonder if I'm near to a way to break the habit
Of breakin' my own heart so that when I bleed
I make it disappear with a little bit of magic
I don't know the bloody mess of which you speak
Maybe it's not that cut and dry
Maybe I just like to overanalyze
This face is probably on my side
'Cause it's mine
'Cause it's mine