Hight Art, Low Culture

I bite my tongue and I try to believe
That pain is a fiction, a thing that we read
A torn out page, I'm eaten away, with every breath

But in the storm of my heart
I don't know real from high art
I don't know what I'm meant to feel
I am a tape without a reel

I'm up on others' fingertips, my head is fine and well
I'm riding out this fire, I am a picture of health

But in the storm of my heart
I don't know real from high art
I don't know what I'm meant to feel
I am a tape without a reel
But in the storm of my heart
I don't know real from high art
I don't know what I'm meant to feel
I am a tape without a reel
But in the storm of my heart
I don't know real from high art
I don't know what I'm meant to feel
I am a tape without a reel