I've been punching bus stops and brick walls,

as if that'd do any good.
I guess I'm just fucking up my outside to make it match.
No, that's just an excuse, everything's just excuses

Everyone has excuses, even though they're all useless.
Blood runs down my fingers like an idiot with a grinder.
Like I fell on my knuckles and slid about 10 feet.
Then I look again and realize everything is perfect.
Everything I thought I saw is only all in my mind,

just like everything else.