Haywire

You want to talk about things you won't understand? 
Then give me your ears. 
Put them in my hands. 
Give me your hands. 
Put them over my ears so I don't have to hear a thing I say
If it makes me think.

I can't talk about things 
I don't understand so I leave it here 
In empty hands and I leave off the ink 
So I don't have to think or 
Sink that low ever again.

Because my memory of what's good is leaving me. 
I knew it would.

That part of me makes no sense.
That part of me is my conscience.