family values.take 1
with the mouth of a sailor, and the heart of a lion, you still stay by my side
through all my petty flaws you oversee them,and continue to admire my selfloathing reflection
with my tounge tied, and my drunken slurs you state youll be there smoking a cigarette by my side.
Through our helpless rituals, and my old soul we make quite the pair. your mother is fucking bitch who never loved you. but i do. but i do.
while my wishes never came true, and my lies faded through i had you. oh i had you. all along the way you read me better than the thousands of words i could ever use to describe my infite persona.
the lies i never told, and the promises i have always seemed to keep youve stayed by my side to see it through.
while i lie, and cuss, and cry and fuck myself over so many times, the tide will never come.
the push and pull of my waves of hope never seem to balance out.
its always heart ache, anger, or helplessness.
oh how these feelings have become a great part of me.
i just cant go on living a lie.
he sat there next to me. just quite and reserved.
she sat by his side aching so bad for his warmth.
all he couldever deliver was his awful crtique.
not even the smoke in my lungs will ever heat this heart again.
not ever will his words mean the same to me.
his terrible style sense made her smile,
the stirrup in joy inside her heart made her anxious
anxious anxious anxious. she just wanted more.
she wanted more of him. more of herself. more of what she herself could not put out.
as if her talent was not good enough to please herself she simply gave up.
everyone clamimed she was the dove and him the elephannt.
if only they knew.
If only they knew her serenity was a facade, if only she knew he was the timid one in the relationship.
He set his palm ontop of her, by now it was too late.
by now she had a bullet through her head, and the gun hanging like a string off of her sleeve.
he was never good at saying good byes.neitehr was she. while he was a writer, and a poet, and an artist, she was aching inside, all while he was her muse. the one in the box as display, and well, she admired him like an antique. the one her mother claimed her of snatchign from her womb 20 years earlier.
through all my petty flaws you oversee them,and continue to admire my selfloathing reflection
with my tounge tied, and my drunken slurs you state youll be there smoking a cigarette by my side.
Through our helpless rituals, and my old soul we make quite the pair. your mother is fucking bitch who never loved you. but i do. but i do.
while my wishes never came true, and my lies faded through i had you. oh i had you. all along the way you read me better than the thousands of words i could ever use to describe my infite persona.
the lies i never told, and the promises i have always seemed to keep youve stayed by my side to see it through.
while i lie, and cuss, and cry and fuck myself over so many times, the tide will never come.
the push and pull of my waves of hope never seem to balance out.
its always heart ache, anger, or helplessness.
oh how these feelings have become a great part of me.
i just cant go on living a lie.
he sat there next to me. just quite and reserved.
she sat by his side aching so bad for his warmth.
all he couldever deliver was his awful crtique.
not even the smoke in my lungs will ever heat this heart again.
not ever will his words mean the same to me.
his terrible style sense made her smile,
the stirrup in joy inside her heart made her anxious
anxious anxious anxious. she just wanted more.
she wanted more of him. more of herself. more of what she herself could not put out.
as if her talent was not good enough to please herself she simply gave up.
everyone clamimed she was the dove and him the elephannt.
if only they knew.
If only they knew her serenity was a facade, if only she knew he was the timid one in the relationship.
He set his palm ontop of her, by now it was too late.
by now she had a bullet through her head, and the gun hanging like a string off of her sleeve.
he was never good at saying good byes.neitehr was she. while he was a writer, and a poet, and an artist, she was aching inside, all while he was her muse. the one in the box as display, and well, she admired him like an antique. the one her mother claimed her of snatchign from her womb 20 years earlier.