I rearrange my circuits into something like a heart
But all it seems to ever get is, “it’s a start…”
So soldering more wires
While the joy in me expires
…I try a new configuration – tear it all apart
And I’m rewarded with, “it makes for pleasant art”

I layer on some lacquer and I try to dye it red
So when I break, someone’ll notice that I’ve bled
But underneath the pieces
Where the hope in me releases
…I’m left obsessing over all the roads and where they led
And how I’m wrong because I’m wired like I’ve said

With microchips and methods and a list of old arrays
I hear desire made of trust that never stays
And saying that I’m trying
Always leads to people sighing
…Because the me I am within their mind – it just decays
And so I’m used to being someone else’s phase

The circuits, ever fraying, and the lacquer starts to peel
And in departure people say, “I need to heal
From loving what you’re not”
Like I’m a toy that time forgot
…I wonder if I’ve ever been or ever will be real
When all I hear from leaving voices are the sound of all their choices
As they try to say how I’m supposed to feel