a lack of things to talk about i called you today i must have called you a hundred times the sea of noise is a ringing in my ear as my lips conceal secrets things i could never tell, god i can't die these little deaths not again, as the moths eat away the fabric of my stomach this is just a bit to familiar this beautiful lie, this one fraudulent crime and you won't answer anyway cause i know if you ever die i would have a lack of things to talk about or i'd just lie.