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Broadside



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Broadside

Laps Around a Picture Frame

In my head, I feel you stare
Is it my lips or my dark hair?
I'm used to it, been there a few times
I don't know
Are these thoughts really mine?
I can't, can't take
These demon's hands
From pulling my mind beneath my mess
This room is growing so cold

I'm in my head
I'm hardly dressed
Say I beg for attention
You don't see my reflection
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The person I am ain't the girl I was raised to be
I live my life on this image that you built for me
I hate myself, I have no friends
Just a blurry reminder of being second best
This room is growing so cold

The room is growing so cold, cold
Not every treasure's made of gold, gold
What do you want from me?
I try my best to be more than my anxiety
Not every treasure's made of gold
Woah oh, gold