There are demons living in my head
But he answers to my name,
He tells me stories late at night
That are messing with my brain.
When I stand before the mirror
He laughs at what I wear,
The freckles sprinkled on my face
And the way I comb my hair.
Do the people sitting in the train
Fight these demons too?
The kind that makes you doubt yourself
And tells you what to do.
May be that’s why they never talk
Because they are screaming inside their head,
And why would you hate someone else,
When you hate yourself instead?