I'm the patron plaster saint (but no one else can get it right)

has anyone stopped to wonder about the things above our heads

have you ever thought to ask yourself where you're going once you're dead

can't you just believe for once that there's something very wrong

if you asked me, I'd say I think it's been here all along

beneath the skin, a parasite holds fast within our doubts

we've been on the lookout, but out vigilance is ignorant

and no one can say what color the sky is

what day we are finding ourselves trapped inside

we've run thousands of minutes and exhausted all our milage

and I for one am supremely disillusioned

gathering the marbles that I swear I am losing

I can find the single thorn in a bed of clean, clipped roses

and I can find the imperfections within your treasured diamond

the sinking ship is only beautiful 'cause it's dying

you're asking me to look at a hurricane and find the silver lining

if you wore my eyes even just one time, you might understand

that I'm standing in shifting sand, and I'm chopping off both my hands

I'm not asking you to believe me

I'm just demanding that you understand

that what I'm saying is true