I was born to this disaster
Just to pacify my father
Aristotle, slave and master

I'm the clay and I'm the potter

I used to know a kid who wore his heart on his sleeve

And he would've gave his life to make another believe
But the world ate him up
And it don't wanna spit him out

So the only question's whether his faith
Is stronger than his doubt


Well I'm a man of great discretion
Make so many good impressions
Under false pretense

I'm still on the fence
I ask all the wrong and right questions
I use all of the right expressions

In their proper tense
Still it makes no sense


Why, why I'm, I'm going down
I'm going down


I ask all the wrong and right questions
I use all of the right expressions
In their proper tense

Still it makes no sense
I'm a man of no discretion
Make so many bad impressions

And there's no suspense
I fell off the fence


So let me go and just let me be
I, I need to breathe