You said you write in cursive when you get mad, and I don't care You told me I should stand up to my dad when he's unfair It's funny, I write lyrics like a child half a decade later, with no eraser because I've been stunted by how much 2008 hurt I can't help but remember the song coming on in the heart of the mix I told you it reminded me of being a child; now it reminds me of this "This" meaning two weird years of my life, late and post-high school, tumultuous tidepool, a 1/5th life crisis where the stillness is just me keeping my cool I'm 21 years old, and I've written many records that are really honest But there's no context, no one has notes So I tore my throat just for a mic check My face was still red like October hunted from hands in my house But it wasn't announced, not at that time Outside of my rhymes, I was like a church-mouse And we both saw a movie one night "Where the Wild Things Are," directed by Spike Jonze It made me weep for a part of my life I had since disowned, I had since disowned You touched the hair on the back of my head I shrugged you off; where did you get the nerve? Don't you ever touch the back of my head Don't you ever remind me where the wild things were One night I got a phone call that confirmed my whitest face It seemed like for an hour or so in a tent, I'd been replaced That's funny, I was so wrapped up in her, I rolled in yearning, my shroud of Turin; it all made my cries due to actual pain just seem like purring And I'm addressing you when I sing "you"; you may or may not care The listener isn't sure who's behind my door, but I know you're in there So what, so we have made amends and are sort of friends What am I sore for? It's my loose floorboards I've got the past kept beneath me, and now it's springing upwards They're gonna need cigar box after cigar box to bury them in, skin upon skin, out in the yard, all the slabs and shards of the boys I've been And then they'll ask, "What'll we do with the bones?" You can leave them alone; call the whole thing off I don't need you or your murderous coup You can leave them to lie unknown And when the actual me is deceased, it will be dreary and big like the dreams of a kid, but that'll be it, and a box can fit all the songs I did And if I'm really lucky, then people will listen, or maybe they'll read, and will be agreed: though my life was star-lit, these years were a pit of hurt for me And we both saw a movie one night "Where the Wild Things Are," directed by Spike Jonze It made me weep for a part of my life I had since disowned, I had since disowned You touched the hair on the back of my head I shrugged you off; where did you get the nerve? Don't you ever touch the back of my head Don't you ever remind me where the wild things were

I used to move with courage, now I break by dawn I had a migratory purpose, now I fly like one impossible swan A bed like the back of a hearse is You wouldn't recognize the person I'm different all day I live inside of a terseness My heart just looks like pursed lips, heard opinions verdicts The ones I love know no one There's a man in my house He will stand in my doorway He's grinding his teeth He's breathing through me There's a man in my mouth He will say what he wants to say He lives on his knees Living means I live with me I used to know a tall tree, by the top I'd lay A part of me left long ago, fell long ago, and a little shred of me has always stayed There's a man in my house He will stand in my doorway He's grinding his teeth He's breathing through me There's a man in my mouth He will say what he wants to say He lives on his knees Living means I live with me