It's pretty hard to look at me when you're dead.

Oh yeah of course,
I'm an attention whore.
That's all I ever want,
Is to be put on the spot.

I love it when they all stare,
THAT'S the reason they all get glares.
Especially when I fuck up,
And they all look so damn stuck up.

I love to be looked at,
Because they're definitley jealous of me.
You don't get a pat on the back,
Because I don't know what the fuck you're lookin at.
But it definitley can't be my life and me.

I hate the constant eyes,
The ones that catch me in my nasty web of lies.
I don't want to ever be on the spot,
Just leave me here to rest and rot.

Constant eyes finding constant lies,
Always seeing what shouldn't be seen,
This is what drives me to be so fucking mean!
I hide behind my hair to avoid every accusing stare.

You say all I want is attention,
Then why do I cringe whenever my name is mentioned?
I love it when they all stare,
I reply back with a murderous glare.

If looks could kill I wonder who'd die first.
Me with your constant eyes revealing lies,
Or you with my always replying glares like knives?
Either way, one of us would be riding along in a hearse.

So of course,
I hate it you twit,
I'd pay to erase it.
All of the accusing stares,
These questioning, curious, stuck up glares,
That land on my face every day,
Always leaving me with this to say.

Stop with the eyes,
Trudging through my web of lies.
Cause' in my mind, I've killed you all three fucking times.
So stare straight ahead,
Cause' its pretty hard to look at me when you're dead.