Addict Of The Gallery

I play Russian Rullet with my sleep every night
Collecting more wrinkles underneath my eyes
If only I could tell you how much I love
The pain and the struggle
I’m addicted to the sorrow
Guess I turned something bad into something worse
I’d rather be alone and maybe that’s how this works
I’ve gotten so used to the feeling of rejection
Set myself up with these expectations

God really likes to test me
But the way I like to see it is
More material
Feeling low
Taking scraps from destruction
Building me up again
Sculpted with melodies carved in the crevices
But I stand alone
Only to admire
Never to touch
Reach out with my hands
But it never connects
I’m a complicated mess that I’ve come to accept
So go ahead and disappoint me
I’ll always feel isolated and lonely
It’s part of being a showpiece
I’m addicted to the artistry

I’m hanging up in a room full of silence
Bleeding colours from the pain and the violence
Don’t I look so beautifully tragic?
I’m hanging up like a dying bouquet
Drying out like a half-eaten pastry
Don’t I look so beautifully tragic?
I’m addicted to the gallery
I’m an addict, I’m an addict of the gallery

Friends and family wonder what happened to me
Constantly asking me do you think you’re happy?
No, I’m not
But I’m happy to know the worse that I feel the more that I grow
Migraines and bad days
Madness and caffeine
I welcome you with open arms and a handful of Advil
It’s hard to win it all
But I’ll never settle for less
They say to live in the present but it’s too hard to digest
So I live for the future
And for who I’ll become
But I’d be lying if I said I’m not afraid of her now
I think she wants to destroy me
Piece by piece
But man I can’t wait to meet her
She sounds just like poetry

I’m hanging up in a room full of silence
Bleeding colours from the pain and the violence
Don’t I look so beautifuly tragic?
I’m hanging up like a dying bouquet
Drying out like a half-eaten pastry
Don’t I look so beautifully tragic?
I’m addicted to the gallery
I’m an addict, I’m an addict of the gallery

Every inch of me is aching
Knowing there’s a space awaiting
For me to fill
In a gallery for bigger things
I’m getting slightly claustrophobic
Too big for the frame that’s holding
All I can be
I want to roam
Free
The world is my gallery

I’m hanging up in a room full of silence
Bleeding colours from the pain and the violence
Don’t I look so beautifully tragic?
I’m hanging up like a dying bouquet
Drying out like a half-eaten pastry
Don’t I look so beautifully tragic?
I’m addicted to the gallery
I’m an addict I’m an addict of the gallery