It's a compulsion, really out of my hands
To tell you all about you making all the wrong plans
But I grind my teeth, and I'll pick at this scar
Anything to make it through a night at the bar

Leave me with flat teeth, with fresh wounds, another nervous tic
Please leave me on the kitchen floor, with my dignity while I get sick
Clean me out like an open sore
Say it's me that makes you a whore
Go ahead blame the moon and sun, then deny
Because that's what makes this fun

You're just a symptom
You're just a symptom
You're just, you're just a symptom
You're just a symptom, you're just
You're just a symptom
Just a symptom

Clean me out like an open sore
Say it's me that makes you a whore
Go ahead blame the moon and sun, then deny
Because that's what makes this fun