‡23‡
ßĕŋĕđįĉťİōŋЅ
‡ ĒŦ ‡
ßáЅРЋемeЅ
Here in my head,
You are alive and awake,
Here on my bed,
You are pretentious and fake.
Here in my room,
I am covered by four walls,
Bottles of liquor and rum,
Shatter glass through the halls.
There you will stand,
On my front balcony,
A lighter in your hand,
And a whisper of crying symphony.
Acidic rain droplets,
Outside these four walls,
Washing out sins of the sinners,
From the bloody walls of the corridors.
Down there in the basement,
It waits in the dark corners,
These concrete walls of rocks and cement,
Hold only horrifying nightmares.
Sulphuric air and chilling waters,
Rusty nails cut through my hand,
Fade colors of once vague memories,
Life of riches and pleasure were once so grand.
Every second, minute to hour,
Every day becomes a week to a month,
I wait here demanding this answer,
For a question that concludes to death.
The past, present or future,
Of which do I stand,
No matter here or there,
What air, water, and sand.
I cannot let go of the memories of life,
No feeling can hide this emptiness,
You can run farther but can never hide,
As I fear actions are cancerous.
No morning glory or cooling breeze,
Here on earth the answer cannot be found,
Just this life here and now and its me moiré,
And my two feet put on the ground.
I lay here on the grass aware and awake,
And alone here and now I wonder,
Which path of pain or suffer in life,
Could make life it self that much better.
ßĕŋĕđįĉťİōŋЅ
‡ ĒŦ ‡
ßáЅРЋемeЅ
Here in my head,
You are alive and awake,
Here on my bed,
You are pretentious and fake.
Here in my room,
I am covered by four walls,
Bottles of liquor and rum,
Shatter glass through the halls.
There you will stand,
On my front balcony,
A lighter in your hand,
And a whisper of crying symphony.
Acidic rain droplets,
Outside these four walls,
Washing out sins of the sinners,
From the bloody walls of the corridors.
Down there in the basement,
It waits in the dark corners,
These concrete walls of rocks and cement,
Hold only horrifying nightmares.
Sulphuric air and chilling waters,
Rusty nails cut through my hand,
Fade colors of once vague memories,
Life of riches and pleasure were once so grand.
Every second, minute to hour,
Every day becomes a week to a month,
I wait here demanding this answer,
For a question that concludes to death.
The past, present or future,
Of which do I stand,
No matter here or there,
What air, water, and sand.
I cannot let go of the memories of life,
No feeling can hide this emptiness,
You can run farther but can never hide,
As I fear actions are cancerous.
No morning glory or cooling breeze,
Here on earth the answer cannot be found,
Just this life here and now and its me moiré,
And my two feet put on the ground.
I lay here on the grass aware and awake,
And alone here and now I wonder,
Which path of pain or suffer in life,
Could make life it self that much better.
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