Straighten up my shoulders for my mother and mirrorsnThe overcompensation of a posture I'm dying to knownFeeling like a kid selling ten dollar chocolatesnReciting all my rehearsed lines to your closing doornThought a change of scenery would make me feel betternMoved four hundred miles away, I'm still staring at the floornAnd feeling useless as a mime in a counseling sessionnHere's a million mute expressions, here's the one where I choke on my wordsnThen in comes the church with the answersnAh Ah bless me with those tired acronyms nThey look good on the overhead slidenThey're saving livesnWorks every timenCoughing courtesy up in a month of indifferencenAnd lapping up the lie with an apologetic tonguenI'm polishing my eyelids with a hand on your shouldernScripted adornment always kills concernnSick of coming home with the TV mumblingnThere used to be a time when you spoke to me with wordsnI'm swearing up and down saying it's a commitment nAnd toasting new beginnings saying sorry I thought it would worknAll my speech is riddled with annulmentnI'm sorry, I'm just doing what I think I shouldnI'm gathering my things and I'm leaving for good in NovembernI don't know when I'll talk to younI guess when both our eyes have finally diednI still want to try