One Of Us Always Tells The Truth And One Of Us Always Lies. He's The Liar.

Every time I turn around, I feel this way.

No crocodile, no winsome smile, no pose.
It's like those things belong to a different person.
A better person, maybe.
And I'm some throwback.
Black cloud, fill in the blank....

I read or heard somewhere that when you blame your family, your genes, your blood, that's you're really just blaming yourself -- I own all of this, it's mine.

Nobody to blame but myself, I hate that. Hate that. I could Rumplestiltskin myself right into the floor with my hate - I hate other people's content, their concern, their easy happiness (or at least the appearance of easy happiness), I hate that I can't even have any of the landmarks of this city for myself, a place for myself, a circle for myself.....they're all taken. Barred from me.

"So, if you're lonley....you know I'm here waiting for you...." - Franz Ferdinand