hang my eyes up   on a hook   swells the panic;   i can't look   inside my own skin, i fail   to find my-   self again      a million faces look the same,   and their replies evaporate   there's no soul   behind these eyes, if   they can't glue me   back again      ghosts drop hints   and whisper things, just   blood and bone, and   bits of string;   blood and bone, and   bits of string      family portrait on the wall   quiet confusion, circle this:   i can feel   my mother's hand, but   i can't find her   face to kiss      there's no soul   behind these eyes, if   they can't glue me   back again   someone's life   inside a box;   nothing here resets the clocks      ghosts drop hints   and whisper things, just   blood and bone, and   bits of string   blood and bone, and   bits of string