Ib - Sugarcoated lyrics

Silence speaks louder than any words I could hear, only there in presence, mentally I'm not here. I'm a parody of myself, a comedy of dramatic mental health. We're all looking for the one who will perfect our imperfections, the one who will see only the best perspectives upon gazing at our reflection. Placed doors and exits in the hallways of my mind, opened my cerebral to different highways to see what I would find. Only there in presence, but being there is a present, and through living in the past, I ignore the present Life's a b**h and then you die. Unfortunately, d**h the only thing that enhances our life image no matter how hard you try. Paintings of our caskets metaphorically and artistically explain our inhibition, our suppression tempts us to talk to our inner self but dissuade us from listening. Cause rationality doesn't necessarily explain our reality. In actuality, the best way to find ourselves is by consistent exhibition of practicality. Despite finding myself, my expensive mind is still lost. And even if I find that, it comes at a great cost Materialistic comparisons contrast greatly to tangible tangents, contradictory dictators drunk off power advised to drink less until they become powerless. This letter hits home with many, upon taking this hit I've realized that all that leaves me traumatized has been told with a slight twist of over-dramatic jest. But I can't deny what my eyes have seen, nor can I lie that I see it over and over in my dreams. My life has come together, stitched like his forehead at the seams, but despite my predictions, nothing is ever quite what it seems. The specific event goes unstated, the fact is it's implied. And truth is, when I think about d**h and appreciation, the two seem to coincide. Posthumously we all seem to be appreciated more even if the love is fabricated. Sugarcoating should give me a warm, sweet vibe, but leaves my mouth with a bitter, sh**ty, taste Despite my movement, I'm not sure of my direction. Despite your touch, I'm not sure I can call this affection. Despite my loneliness I wouldn't call myself isolated. Despite my direction, I wouldn't consider my life fully navigated. Similar songs have been sung, similar fables have been told. Stories overfed and easily abused, like a dog eating from a fish bowl Spilling the blood on my toes from my soul onto a pad, periodically giving the things that spill from under my sole and stepping on them as if they bothered me just a tad. Despite my isolation, I'm never cold. Even though that's the 33rd time I've said that and upon claiming it, my opinion turned into mold