Sometimes quiet is violent, I find it hard to fight it, my pride will fall no longer inside it, it's in my sleeve, my skin will scream, reminding me of who I killed, inside my dream, I hate this car that I'm driving there's no hiding for me. I'm forced to deal with what I feel, there is no distraction to mask what is real, I can pull the steering wheel. I have these thoughts, so often I yacht, to replace the slot, with what I once bought, cus' somebody stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence.