I find you disingenuous Like the house that I grew up in Aesthetics always shifting But the frame remains unchanging Nothing short of demolition Would rob you of your function To exist in conjunction With the evil that dwells outside the walls But all I ever hear when you're near Is a tiny violin playing you in The cadence of your self confidence Down tuned to something subordinate But steady hands can still draw the shortest straw But all our conversations Are like fists hitting the pavement Despite your knuckles conviction The cement remains indifferent Lost in neighborhoods I grew up in Where form does not fit function And there's nothing triumphant About the mansions rich men live alone in But all I ever hear when you're near Is a tiny violin playing you in The cadence of your self confidence Down tuned to something subordinate But steady hands can still draw the shortest straw