Owen - Critical Condition

I'm a faggot
I was born when my eyes closed, he dies when I wake
So composed, so what if I can't sing
He drinks gasoline, he spits fire
Pour me on broken glass for tea
A cow's tongue, two bricks for lips
Each attempt to speak some money crime scene
Can someone call the ambulance
It's critical condition, can you keep a secret
I'm not okay, I hate my friends and I hate my face
And now the rats glow, who do you think they'd tell
What is this I'm feeling, is it permanent or fleeting
I'm beaten with a stick, oh, will I die like this
If I do, she'd die too