Brittle Boned

The low, electric glow – static snows in the lobby Dull TV, magazines, waiting rooms can't hide me From the sting, paper sheets, bloodwork and the IV And the whirring machines while the nurses reassure me: This will be quick and easy, I'm not gonna feel a thing Lie and say it'll be alright, like a stray falling asleep 'Cause I'm so good at hurting myself Pulse is slow, faint metronome on my left side beneath my protruding spine You can hardly hear at night White flag, blindfold covering my sunken eyes And a line of rifles aimed at my sick mind 'Cause I'm so good at hurting myself