There's a whole in the void of my soul... a recess I've neglected to muster up the guts to face. And from it permeates a rancorous stench I've failed to keep a lid on. And it's making me sick. And I'm holding you responsible, at least in part. Portraits of sanity hang framed in brevity. Yeah, insecurity I've accepted has forced me to be the best. I can never rest and I'll never amount to much. I believe you. So am I good enough yet? 'Cause pushing perfect leaves no lasting better. I can't get it together. But just because I fail you. Doesn't make me worthless. I'll probably always fail you. Doesn't make me worthless. Fail you. There's a whole in the void in my soul.