Anhedonia
Overslept Lyrics

I was always told "You should never bury bones where your spirit grows" But honestly A cemetery's just a garden full of gravestones
I was advised not to hide my secrets where my soul resides, but truthfully, burying things in a cemetery is just as good as anywhere else because it's merely a garden of headstones.

And I'd like to think that I know you best When I'm catching the things you get off your chest It's okay you killed the limbs to build your nest
I feel I understand you most when you confide in me, airing your issues. I recognise that you had to ruthlessly remove some parts of yourself to establish your place in the world.

But when you're buried in the retrospect It can get easier to forget You were the one who laid the footsteps Cause where they've been you can never know And where they lead you can never go So circle wagons real slow
Hindsight can make it simple to overlook that you were once the one paving the way, and mysteries lie both behind you and ahead of you. Consequently, move cautiously and pay heed to your surroundings.

All choked up on the dirt you kicked up When you kill the lamb that you cut your teeth on So tell me, what is forgiveness worth?
You're struggling to move on from the dirt and ash stirred up when you slaughtered the lamb who taught you everything. I'm questioning what value absolution has in this situation.

Let the daylight get to know you like I do
I implore you to be truthful with yourself, as open as the daylight, so you can know yourself intimately as I do.

I've been worried sick since the day I turned 18 That what I was given would be taken from me I like to think I've outgrown But I'm shit at leaving "well-enough" alone
Ever since I reached eighteen, I've feared losing all that I've gained. Even though I'd like to believe I've moved past that now, I'm poor at leaving things alone without overthinking them.

This is getting old Writing pointless tomes on the telephone Listen for the symphony In the way the fresh air seems to speak to me
It's becoming tedious, composing insignificant prose with no purpose via the phone. Pay attention to the melody in the sound of the fresh air as it whispers its secrets to me.

But I like to think that you know me best When you get your hands underneath my vest It's all vines until the space on the other side
I feel you understand me most intimately when you're touching my flesh, feeling my chest. Everything feels safe and straightforward, but beneath the surface is a tangled web of complexities.

I'm worn down on the edges now From all the pictures I was cut out What loved me then doesn't need me now And don't it turn you inside out?
All the exclusion and rejection takes a toll on me, and I'm beginning to feel frayed around the edges. The people who once accepted and adored me don't require me anymore, and doesn't it eat away at you?

I don't think I know what it's worth The days you spend outside of the hurt Because who is going to love them now That we put their father in the ground?
I'm unsure what the advantages of times when you're not in pain are, as the father of the children, the one who loved them, is no longer around to do so.

(And life still goes on, with or without)
(Even though life carries on, whether you're ready or not)