hey honey, you were given feet to dance with. say sugar, you were given hips to sway. so steal a kiss, and lose yourself with me tonight... raise your
Yeah, so anesthetize this aesthetic we've got this all wrong we're inordinately subordinate, enslaved by your fashion We're nurturing apathy with our
breath it in, the sweet smell of failure. drink it down with dystopic discord... drown me darling, once more. pesticides. this pest aside... anything
is this your weapon? a soulless smile. a mouthful of daggers to bite off the hand that feeds you. (so tear me down)... a well placed punctuation mark
can i get some air to breath? we're suffocating ourselves with mediocrity. we lose the battle daily. cemented in sentiment. sentimentally yours, my dying
red lips. white face. white lies. painless. drink from this cup. hemlock. end this... pretty pictures from story book lies. (typhoid mary had nothing
start transmission: somethings wrong. a distress signal not yet heard. this transgressions not the first. (a distinct missive of missed design). somethings
please abuse me with fists perfectly formed. bite off my tongue so i wont say a word (the anger dulls your beauty - the alcohol washes it completely away
i drink from your cup to feel i'm alive. i swallow this whole to define myself. i wait this out though time kills all things... but touch is a luxury
i'm all head injuries and amputee scars. (scratch the phantom limb). is it yet time for the bloodletting? doctor, i'll take two more leeches please. (
i've got my back against the wall. i've got my feet planted firmly in this... i break the surface to breath again for the first time. chill november air
this clarity drives me to my knees. a bitter concoction of my selfishness. and i don't want to get up. let me lie here and bleed, because i deserve this
yeah baby, ain't this what you've always wanted? so lets see you smile through pretty poison lips... i've got my eyes shut tight and my hands tied, and
turn off the alarm. spit-shined and disarmed. time heals like a gun - if you let it. so run me down with no headlights. my head is light from this white
i'm dressed for the kill now. i'm dressed for our funeral. a dress down affair. an accident addressed to me from you... a self-inflicted starving state
put on your dancing shoes and move to this free-form beat. yeah. the syncopation of discontent is the sound of non-participation. so put on your dancing
to play this part i've got to turn away. i've got to face the lie. to face the day i've got to turn away. c'mon, tear down this charade. yeah, can you
standstill. (linger in this torpor. try to avoid entropy. try to avoid atrophy). status check? stasis. state this: stay this course... the state of the
