More draw than man, more can't than can.

See i found myself this friend who makes the little things exist,
Taken up the anti so much more fun than when your pissed,
Frightened by people yes so comfortable in company,
Little brown around my eyes makes no difference to how i see,
Finding your little comments oh so relevant to the truth,
So important the news can't help but scrawl it on a telephone booth,
Seen so many lights that help me take on my fear of the dark,
You know who you are and what time to meet in the emptiest of car park,
Laugh a little louder I don't think the next town over heard you,
Laugh a little colder till your eyes go red and lips proceed to turn blue,
See your storm was so much fun to be in sailing it like the slaves,
but although much more sparse now i'm not so excited by your waves,
Countless times i waited for the Blinding to come ashore,
troubled by the empty coast and theres no knocking at my door,
Lost in the art of function I'm no longer the pinicle of synicle,
Lost in the art of escapism my bodies biology's now more chemical,
Losing it, losing, losing it and lost take me under your wing,
Supposed to be on the radio soon but not too sure if I can sing,
I know you have little too spare and this is quite some favour,
But please let me hear you one more time so come and be my saviour,
Reluctant to my truth and denial has started to take it's toll,
Throwing me around and back to myself flailing like an old rag doll,
Buttons for my eyes and go and knit me some new clothes,
Next time you see me will I be down or up only the heavens knows,
Haha you pushed it once and then pushed for a little bit less,
Scathing marks of times past are hidden under your fitted dress.
Scratch me up another memory on the inside of the club toilet wall,
Scathe at me from up on your throne so majestic and so tall,
This is not an ode or relevent state of what is fact,
This is a ballad to substance that has filled in the gaps of what I lacked,
A true mistress so of solitude shaping me into it's mould,
Phantom feelings of my baddest of days stroll in from the past so cold,
Am I falling backwards into the boy that I once was?
Or have I not lost control as much as they believe just because,
Comparisions between where your going to and to where i am,
Little bit of lion and ever so much more of a lonely lamb,
I won't tell the man in the mirror that I am his only fan,
I'm more draw than man you see more can't than am of a can.