Copycat Symptoms.

Hushed to the dreams at the limit of your reality,
Excused from tables as if they're places of interest.
You wrote the book on how to be illiterate.

And I'm worn down
Surviving off the warmth in my killer's heart.
Expressed a solemn interest in the roles and purpose of paintings you've hung.
I don't believe in your empty facts anymore.
You told me things to made it end,
I stayed long enough to hear the beginning.