I Am the Least of Your Problems

Woke in a ditch where the bitches grin to the sound of the present tense
 How many sound checks can a man ignore before he turns into a shadow of himself?
 I've got nothing left but an autograph and the strangest sense of doubt
 I think the name belongs to me
 But someone else is living with it
 I am the least of your problems
 But I don't mind
 Fell on myself with the tender touch and the shame of the indiscreet
 How many hand jobs can a man enjoy till he forms into a puddle at his feet?
 I got things to say in a plastic voice that I learned on the way to hell
 Again the point of missing you
 No one else will do it for me
 I am the least of your problems
 But i don't mind
 Draw it out as long as you can bear it
 Fight it out
 Fight it out
 Fight it out the misery is glorious