The Boiler Room

I've been destitute but never broke beyond repair

A hollow body is an empty shell until it finds purpose in the air

So fuck fresh starts, all fairytales, false hope and make believe

I double down on this weary body to see what it might bring

I'll open up, knowing I'm bound to fall

And when the concrete tears this flesh, I'll paint a portrait with the blood

I'll try again, expecting the same results

But when that blood it dries, I'll have made something to call my own

When they built this body, they used 90% spare parts

But they made the mistake of giving it a boiler room for a heart

I've got a deviated septum and a pocketful of wild ideas