An explanation,
but I'm no good at summaries,
no good at subjugation.
Congregations ill at ease, and you
are ever so hard to appease,
darling dear, desperately unaware,
can't you draw any nearer?

I'm throwing bones,
raking in the wind,
my stones cast no shadows
and I can't tell what you're after.

One, two, six, five four,
you know I have far too many favorite numbers,
and I know you can't name any,
they don't matter enough,
so no of course you don't bother,
not when you can have an easier
way to be.

I blow fake smoke down your alley
and you scoff and turn away.
It's all a pity call to drain your sympathies
and twist this fate, this faith I haven't lost yet,
but tell me hotshot, did you ever really have any?

My work covers me in colors,
tries to hide my blandness,
my insecure flaws, so unsure am I,
I can't even decide what to fear about myself.