ACT I: SCENE 3: THE DIRGE OF SHAME

It's not the opinion. It's who it comes from.
You point out my weakness 'cause you are not strong.
You ride on my coattails then turn tail and run.
Then attack what I've done and you're never once wrong.

Petty little child inside, tell us all about yourself.
Tell us all the things you've done.
Tell us how you love yourself.
Suckin' up the air we breathe to tell us all about yourself.
Nothing else is worth the words and you're all that matters.

You give your two cents like it's worth so much more.
You force me to bed then you call me a whore.
You're never the savior that I'm looking for.
And you watch the blood pour. And you watch the blood pour.

My wounds aren't enough so you sprinkle the salt.
You've failed once again just to see the gestalt.
It's only yourself who you can exault.
And you're never at fault. And you're never at fault.

I stumbled on these worn out words when I had not yet found.
That I would shine by their accord and they by my reknown.
I've wept and bled for what I have. For all I know it's fake.
I've wept and bled for what i know, and what I have they take.
So if I shine by their accord, and many know my name.
Perhaps that's when I should resort to feeling more ashamed.

I've prayed for a crisis but roused no reply.
I've bitten my lip and I've swallowed my pride.
Your words are abundant. My patience is slight.
I'm ready to die while youre ready to fight.

I'M READY TO DIE WHILE YOU'RE READY TO FIGHT.