Left at the altar, I guess I'm not worth the time
I always falter, but that's me at my best
Dropped the ball, never been my sport
I lost it all, one more failure I guess
Impaled, burnt, bleeding from the heart
Dying numerous deaths must be my art
This wound isn't the first, definitely not the last
But it's my fault, I keep letting them get past
My soul must be into whips, chains, and sharp objects
My mutilations seem to see something I just don't get
I don't get it at all