Product of My Environment

When you put a boy in hell What do you expect to come out of it He acts like a demon You should've expected it Well does it ever end, No Well do you want it to, No I can't see My skin is paper-thin now In Hell. Hell. Hell. Hell. Hell I cant see My skin is paper-thin My bones are built to fold My flesh is much too cold Do you want it to end, No Do you want it to, No I can't see My ears are ringing still My eyes are always wet My words fulfill the debt I can see My charade is shot to shit My masquerade is malevolent My performance is pretentiously perfect I can see I ain't free When you put a boy in hell What do you expect to come out of it He becomes a demon. A product of his environment When you put a boy in hell He'll sure act like it Does it ever end, No Do you want it to, Never I see My teeth, bleed My teeth, bleed My teeth, bleed But still, I smile Do you want it to Do you want it to, No When you put a boy in hell Expect him to become a product of his environment