The Process

Break the code of silence
Forget your conscience
And baby, you’ll be fine
Grab a book of matches
Half-empty gas can
And get these hands untied
You made me who I am
Blame it all on the process, darling
Draw my blood from stone
Sorry about the mix up, sweetie
But this had to be said
You made me who I am
Lift your broken posture
Reset your shoulder
And plant you in the soil
I recall the moment
That I first struck and
Your twisted limbs recoiled
You made me who I am
Blame it all on the process, darling
Draw my blood from stone
Sorry about the mix up, sweetie
But this had to be said
You made me who I am
You think you’ve seen the worst of me
Well think again
You made me who I am
Your body slumps over a hole I dug for when
You made me who I am