I'm kinda screwed up
I bet you can't tell...
The walls of my room know it all -
They see my obsessive little life
And hear what I talk about
All day, afterall

Or maybe you could ask the clock
I stare at her, more often than not
She glares back at me
When I haven't been taking care of the time she keeps a track of
Nevermind actually; 'cause she'd never make me sound like a rad cloth

Then, maybe you could ask the lamp
He's the one;
Who reads what I write
When it's way past midnight
...