Brick One
Self-destruction seems a lot less unactractive after you've dressed it up a little.
Like a tomboy in a thick coat of make up and a mini-skirt for the first time.
Everyone's so distracted by the innitial shock of the situation that they forget to really look any deeper than it's surface.
Just how every joke harbors even the slightest bit of truth. You can pull it off as a casual thing - but you know and I know that in your heart - the only thing that's breaking is you. And the only people you're convincing are the ones that never knew you to begin with.
It's in every cube the rests on the bottom of the clear glass that held liquor 10 minutes ago.
It's in every drop that rest on the botton of the acid filled pouch that is your stomach.
Self-destruction is rock n' roll.
It's Jack Daniels and a pack of cheap smokes.
It's half assed smiles and tight pants.
Self-destruction is the lady in red.
The devil in a blue dress.
It's that outdated cliche your mother insists on running into the ground.
It's Phil Collins and cheap wine.
It's bleached jeans and high tops.
It's out of date.
But you continue to rock the entire picture - because its understood. It's known. There's no mistaking it.
Self-destruction is your middle name.
It's there - only, most people don't know about it.
Can't quite put a finger on it - because they never asked.
Because if they'd asked - it would have to mean that they cared.
And who cares about shit like that anyhow?
We're too busy trying to remember our relatives birthdays to give a fuck about something we won't remember in a few hours anyhow.
Self-destruction isn't a character flaw.
It's not anything you thought it was other than a friend you can't get rid of.
A lover you used to know.
A promising relationship - backfired.
Who in the fuck said Rome was built in a day anyway?
Like a tomboy in a thick coat of make up and a mini-skirt for the first time.
Everyone's so distracted by the innitial shock of the situation that they forget to really look any deeper than it's surface.
Just how every joke harbors even the slightest bit of truth. You can pull it off as a casual thing - but you know and I know that in your heart - the only thing that's breaking is you. And the only people you're convincing are the ones that never knew you to begin with.
It's in every cube the rests on the bottom of the clear glass that held liquor 10 minutes ago.
It's in every drop that rest on the botton of the acid filled pouch that is your stomach.
Self-destruction is rock n' roll.
It's Jack Daniels and a pack of cheap smokes.
It's half assed smiles and tight pants.
Self-destruction is the lady in red.
The devil in a blue dress.
It's that outdated cliche your mother insists on running into the ground.
It's Phil Collins and cheap wine.
It's bleached jeans and high tops.
It's out of date.
But you continue to rock the entire picture - because its understood. It's known. There's no mistaking it.
Self-destruction is your middle name.
It's there - only, most people don't know about it.
Can't quite put a finger on it - because they never asked.
Because if they'd asked - it would have to mean that they cared.
And who cares about shit like that anyhow?
We're too busy trying to remember our relatives birthdays to give a fuck about something we won't remember in a few hours anyhow.
Self-destruction isn't a character flaw.
It's not anything you thought it was other than a friend you can't get rid of.
A lover you used to know.
A promising relationship - backfired.
Who in the fuck said Rome was built in a day anyway?