CON ARTIST

Ain't it strange I must find a way

To convince you to convince myself

I can have the same conversations with my friends

They don't seem concerned

I see you constantly try

To continue to connect our lives

You conjure up my world

And construct it in a different light

 

What if my walls turns grey

What if it falls, this masquerade

What will be my contents?

 

What if I change my shape

What if it's a whole charade

What will be the consequence? 

 

Ain't it strange I must find a way

To console you

To console myself

I need a contact to confide in

Now I'm slowly feeling more content

You can be so condescending

But I tell my friends you're misconstrued

Though my confidence it grows

You keep me too well contained 

 

What if these walls turns grey

What if it falls, this masquerade

What will be my contents?

 

What if I change my shape

What if it's a whole charade

What will be the consequence?

What will be the consequence?

 

Hum dum bim baa do

Hum dum bim baa do

Hum dum bim baa do di

Hum dum dim baa do

Hum dum dim baa do

Hum dum dim baa do di

 

What if I concede right now?

What if it's contagious doubt?

What if it's the concept?

 

What if I finally consign?

What if my contrast dies?

What if it's convention?

 

What if I concentrate?

What if I confess mistakes?

Would you miss the conflict?

 

What if my need for tight control 

Leads me to contrived results

What if it's subconscious?

Am I too self-conscious?