I look into eyes, but I can"t tell if they"re mine.
The words coming off my tongue feel like delicately polished,
practiced lines.
In my head I know my face,
but I haven"t shown it for so long now,
that I might now know how.
Every day I"m someone else, someone different,
but I swear that you could never tell that I"m hollow.
I"m hollow. I fill the emptiness with things that aren"t real,
to see if I can feel less hollow,
but I know it"s only temporary. It"s temporary.
In my head I know my face,
but I haven"t shown it for so long now,
that I might now know how.
Every day I"m someone else, someone different,
but I swear that you could never tell that I"m hollow.
The words coming off my tongue feel like delicately polished,
practiced lines.
In my head I know my face,
but I haven"t shown it for so long now,
that I might now know how.
Every day I"m someone else, someone different,
but I swear that you could never tell that I"m hollow.
I"m hollow. I fill the emptiness with things that aren"t real,
to see if I can feel less hollow,
but I know it"s only temporary. It"s temporary.
In my head I know my face,
but I haven"t shown it for so long now,
that I might now know how.
Every day I"m someone else, someone different,
but I swear that you could never tell that I"m hollow.