Sitting at my desk, running through my thoughts,
the devils on my shoulders don't really talk no more.
And so it seems they made like the angels,
got bored of who I am,
are sick of being tangled in my thoughts.
And I don't really blame them,
I sort of feel the same,
a certain frustration I feel when I see my face.
Because I'm scared of who I am,
scared of who I'm not,
scared that who I am is just
a fleeting thought.
Why won't you lie to me?
Why won't you lie to me?
Why won't you lie to me?
Why won't you lie to me?
Why won't you lie to me?
Why won't you lie to me?
Find yourself,
live somewhere in my mind,
amongst the millions I walk on by.
I pass them like a stranger,
on a busy street,
we all turn into strangers that we don't have
time to greet.