This is for my own good This is better for me This is for my own good This is better for me This is for my own good This is better for me This is better for me This is better for me I am broken record, faulty tape, I am deep gash on vinyl, Permanent scratch on CD, A disc loved beyond repair, Prized possession, Damaged heirloom, By record player groove that drilled in too deep, Worn stylus needling in tattoo ink that spells out tragedy, They transcribed their will into every note And I am forced to play their song, Tune into their frequency, Echo their wavelength, Until all that is heard is Too familiar, like the songs of my childhood, Songs from home, Songs I’ve been taught, And it was already decided for me that Nowhere to be heard in this soundtrack to my life Is a lyric that calls your name, A pitch in your remembrance Or A note that sings of you And the ears of mine that used to find music in everything, Are now suddenly fond of the silence.