In the attics and crawlspaces of my mind, there are stowaways and quiet passengers
They've been there since I was a child, whispering softly amongst themselves
I wear this crown of hate
Feel the blood run down my face
I know all your pain
Waiting on unforeseeable events
Puppeteering from beneath my skin
Suffocating invisible boxes
Pools of blood up to their knees
I wear this crown of hate
Feel the blood run down my face
I know all your pain
My crown weighs me to the ground while the medicine keeps me calm, keeps me calm
Descendant of sickness, descendant of hate
Descendant of sickness, descendant of hate

The world caved in on my friend today
And with his shaking hands he closed his eyes and he walked away
Without a reason or goodbye
The foundation quakes
The rafters shake
Climbing slow into the sky
He removed his crown before he drifted down and fell ever so asleep
She found his shell in the morning
Her heart leap sad and fast
He is here yet he has gone away, in numb silence from the past