Song for Self Help Video (MV)

My body is too f*cking weird
Nothing that i do will change it
Every effort to reconcile sells out the notion your body is futile

I can't seem to work it out
What the hell i'm thinking, no, i haven't go my thoughts in place
I can't seem to work it out
What the f*ck i am so now i'm leaving bruises on my face

And as the cows come home i do nothing
To repair my broken synapse
Your virtues can't define you if your body is endlessly compostable

I can't seem to work it out
What the hell i'm thinking, no, i haven't go my thoughts in place
I can't seem to work it out
What the f*ck i am so now i'm leaving bruises on my face

That's fine
You can scurry along
It's relative, kind of
Doesn't have to mean anything (No, dutch)

"Because we're frequently led to ask the question - what did he intend to say?
And a deconstructive reading will lead us in the direction of not 'what did he intend
To say' but what are these physical marks? How can I interpret these physical marks
To get to make that or use that example, which by the way is an anti-hermeneutic one
It marks a turn against what might be called the idea
That there could be the right interpretation"

Well, personalities don't exist
And your virtues can't define
Your body is endless and therefore my body will never be mine

I can't seem to work it out
What the hell i'm thinking, no, i haven't go my thoughts in place
I can't seem to work it out
What the f*ck i am so now i'm leaving bruises on my face