I'm Actual - The Format

So can we take the next hour

And talk about me

Talk about me, and we’ll talk about me

Talk about me, and we’ll only talk about me

Can we please take this hour

And talk about me

And my hatred for corporate magazines

You know they don’t speak to me

The irony is they won’t speak with me

(I'm actual, I’m actual)

I placed you on a windowsill

Cut notches up and down the door

My surprise, I woke up one morn

In our bed

In your place

Lay a note

It read:

Baby your love

It just ain’t good enough

I found sunlight six hours away

You watered me down 'til I drifted abound

Somewhere far from your shade

Now I shadow my former self

Once holy, now lonely

A chest full of holes

Red wax, it paints me unclear

When the big hand strikes twelve

I disappear

And the angels are fake

They’ll lie to your face

Anything to keep you away

You watered me down 'til

I drifted abound

It’s time I accept the fact

That you on your back

It has buried the past

Can we please take this hour

And talk about me

Talk about me, and we’ll talk about me

Talk about me, and we’ll only talk about me

Can we take the next hour

And talk about me

And my hatred for corporate magazines

You know they don’t speak to me

The irony is they won’t speak with me