You want to talk about things you won't understand

Then give me your ears

Put them in my hands

Give me your hands

Put them over my ears so I don't have to hear a thing I say

If it makes me think

I can't talk about things I don't understand so I leave it here in empty hands and I leave off the ink so I don't have to think or sink that low ever again

Because my memory of what's good is leaving me

I knew it would

That part of me makes no sense

That part of me is my conscience