Dead Boys Testo

we're not men and admissions like this poke holes in holy men.i'm just play-acting, navigating my way through relationships and emotions
with well-timed nods and much-rehearsed smiles;
i pretend to care more than i listen.
your sincerity used to be something i envied,
now i can't understand a word you say.
because i'm cold and hardly even embarrassed to admit that my chief concern when i'm at your house late at night
is what time i need to wake up.
i'm on cruise control: no ups, no downs' just a middle road with occasional late night rides:
artificial roller coasters and an alarm set for me in the morning.
it might be sad, but i don't know anything about that.
i weigh more these days, i feel thicker;
layers of rough, calloused skin with dense bones and endless sheets of cartilage and muscle.
the people around me smile and talk and breathe and it all means absolutely nothing;
the jukebox plays songs that used to start revolutions, but those days seem far away.
and even my own words, they dip down into me, trying to believe themselves, trying to echo loud,
but find nothing to bounce off of.
i speak sincerely about emotions that i've only read about,
and i don't care whether people believed me or not by the time i get home.
i don't touch the flame, i do sniff at the perfume, and i always keep an umbrella nearby
but i lie because none of it registers and i feel nothing'
fires don't burn and the rains sure as shit don't soak.
and all i really want is a stabbing,
i want to kick the addiction' i want to feel a goddamn thing.