Lyrics: Dead Poetic. Vices.

Feeling cold, feeling empty
Set the stage where you want me
And this crowd right before me
Doesn't care that I'm dying

And the audience stands with their eyes fixed
On the preconceived version of me
I'm so betrayed by your hopes
But I will not hide myself for your peace of mind

Oh but child, I've got vices like any other man

Raise a boy to a cynic
Take his love and then let it turn
Into something passionate
Something sick, something rabid

And I vent to keep myself from caving
I don't hate you, I just hate where I'm heading
I'm left here asking, when did I trade in
My bleeding heart for a selfish win?

Oh but Mother, I've got vices like any other man
Vices that you're not used to
Vices that'll make you think less of me

Leave me numb, leave me jaded
She's a dream, I just play dead
I've been blessed, I've been hated
She's the constant and I'm her addict

She's the only peace in this world, uneasy
While I bite my tongue to keep from breaking the heart
That I've spent my whole life seeking
The only heart I've ever needed

Oh but Lover, I've got vices like any other man
Vices that you're not used to
Vices that'll make you think

Oh but Lover, I've got vices like any other man
Vices that you're not used to
Vices that'll make you think less of me, less of me

Feeling cold, feeling empty
I am low, unworthy
Bleed the God, bleed the blessing
Like a vulture feasting

I'll exist as if I don't feel conviction
Of my ignorance to my perfect prison
But I feel the stabs on my wrists
And ankles every time I try

To forget you, to forget you

Oh but Jesus, I've got vices like any other man
Vices that you're so used to
Vices that won't make you think less of me