When I'm camouflaged in alcohol it's ringing in my ears - out of sight out of mind. That's kind of hard with you in the room. Ignoring the awkwardness and the repetition of Incubus. I stumble up the stairs to puke - more word vomit from Chelsea True Heart. Out of sight out of mind, I can't throw myself in front of that train again. Who is this about? All of you. You're the ends of my hair and the scars on my thighs and the worry in my eyes it's all of you. You've done this to me. You're all the numbers on the clock and the thick brown smoke and the dirt under my nails. It's fucking all of you.