When I was a child I kept mostly to myself
I’d keep company with notions that I would never tell
And when the storms would crash down in the world or at my home
I’d seek the coping comfort of being all alone

I’d protect myself by building walls and controlling what I could
Control’s a funny concept, it may be bad or good
Like deciding how much pain you’re in by pilin’ it on yourself
And if nobody can see the marks they’ll assume that all is well

So you fire up the stick and poke and get to work
And tell yourself it matters and one day they’ll feel the hurt

For years I bore the tattoos that no one else could see
I’d worked on them for ages, the artwork just for me
I held it all together through love and war and grief
And added to the tapestry when I needed to retreat

So you fire up the stick and poke and get to work
And tell yourself it matters and one day they’ll feel the hurt

Then sittin on a floral couch in a Houston office park
For hours I sat talking and pourin out my heart
We peeled the layers back, and piece by broken piece
The lies I’d wrapped myself up in were loosened and released

Some folks keep it going and take it to the grave
They carry generations worth of sorrow and of hate
One way or another the cycle ends with me
I’ll live my truth with friends I’ve made and love them honestly