*94- Is On The Right Poem by Christopher's Dead

I’m the man behind the bars
We talk through walls and I wonder how I got here
I’m a boy, I’m a little too trusting
And I can’t help wondering what you think of me

Silence, it’s the façade you build
With you oh-too familiar condescending
Pretense that you have for the world
And you’re just too afraid to tell the truth

I’m a cynic, I curse myself
I kick myself in reflections in distorted
Nightmares, dirty puddle dripping voices
They tell me that you laugh about me

And you’re the worst part of it all
Ninety-four in black painted on the mailbox
You’ll stop to look around
But on the ground in front is where you’ll find me

I’m not offering you my soul
My flesh should have been enough
Can’t you see that I bled for you?
Stop your hideous masquerade
Parading ‘round me in that face
Does he still not know that it’s a fake?

You’re a fake, undertake every little piece of heart and soul
And lock it in the casket you keep behind your bedroom door
You lie me in the ex-room fire, ashes spewed upon the floor
And there he goes attached to you, riding in your existential
Fate, you mess with fate, every feeling mixed with hate
When you think about the time we spent floating in your heaven’s sake
Of course he’s killing time while you put on your other face
‘Cause you know I’m the only one that can stand to see you naked

I’m not your ghost
I’m not your ghost