You seem surprised to find   that I'm human   and that I can do things wrong.   For my frailties your heart   has no room and   you go write a song.      You take glee in making me   play my faults out onstage.   You can spit your venom out   but I must hold my rage.      And I'm feeling black and blue   like I'm beaten through and through.   I'm cut and bruised.   I'm black and blue.      Would it give you any   satisfaction   if I said I can be mean?   Would you then admit in our   interactions   your hands aren't quite clean?      When you tell your stories   that recount my every sin   you always leave out the beginnings   so you can look good in the ends.      And I'm feeling black and blue   like I'm beaten through and through.   I'm cut and bruised.   I'm black and blue.      This is the point at which   I need to write a bridge   for this.   But I haven't done it yet.   It's proving hard to get.      When you find the next thing   that I'm lacking.   Please don't tell me to my face.   For my pride has taken   quite a whacking.   I can't stand up straight.      So, take my latest failure   and be sure to write it down   so you can pour it out like water on me   when I start to drown.      And I'm feeling black and blue   like I'm beaten through and through.   I'm cut and bruised.   I'm not like you.   I'm black and blue.