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I search myself like It's an adventure,

Like my soul is ruined architecture.

Every tomb, every disappointment censored,

I uncover myself like accursed treasure.

It is what is on the inside that counts,

Cut me neck to navel, pull the filling out.

Because it is what is inside your heart that counts,

Cut me neck to navel, pull these feelings out of me.

I know my flesh is weak and my spirit is willing.

I know I'm nothing unless I make myself into something.

I see myself in ways nobody else could ever possibly.

If you believe It's true, you might be more than meat, maybe.