And there is still nothing about myself I respect Still haven’t done anything I did not later regret I’ve a hand and a napkin when looking for sex And that’s no one to talk to when feeling depressed And so now when I drink, I’m going to drink to excess And when I smoke, I will smoke gaping holes in my chest And when I scream, I will scream until I’m gasping for breath And when I get sick, I will stay sick for the rest Of my days peddling hate out the back of a Chevy Express Each one a fart in the face of your idea of success And if this be thy will, then fucking pass me the cup And I’m sorry, Dad, no, I’m not making this up But my enemy, it’s your name on my lips as I go to sleep And I know what little I’ve known of peace Yes, I’ve done to you what you’ve done to me And I’d be nothing without you, my darling, please don’t ever leave

Am I a torn up, tattered, worn out piece of fabric - not suitable to stitch up, or rip? ‘Cause I’d like to be tightly braided, gold and silver bracelets; the type you like to wear 'round your wrist.