(no subject)
I can't seem to fucus on anything anymore. I'm having a terrible time keeping a hold of the things that are important to me. My only time of tranquility is sitting alone in the dark, letting words written to music travel through my body as if it's a calm stream that collects all my thoughts off the shore and let them all move at the same pace.
Your words to me just a whisper
Your faces so unclear
I try to pay attention
Your words just disappear
'Cause its always raining in my head
Forget all the thing's I should have said
I used to be a master of words. Despite not speaking for the majority of my life, I always knew what to say. I'm lost. Always I have seemed distracted, preoccupied, curious. I always had something on my mind to make me seem like that. Now I am mute, trapped, dead. Too many things assualt my concious and mind that I am clogged.
So I speak to you in riddles
'cause my words get in my way.
I smoke the whole thing to my head
and feel it wash away
'cause i can't take anymore of this,
I want to come apart
or dig myself a little hole
inside your precious heart
...my safe haven. Always confortable, always safe. It was home, and now I've set everything dear to me into a blender and pressed "puree". I shut myself off from the one thing that made everything make sense. I notice this, and weather the reasons are valid or not, I still did it. You know how hard it is to look at everything you don't have and say that you did it to yourself? It's easy to blame it on other people, but even with a good cause to your affect...it still kills you. Perpetual death from a peronally induced wound.
'Cause its always raining in my head
Forget all the things I should have said
I am nothing more than a little boy inside
That cries out for attention
though I always try to hide
'Cause I talk to you like children,
Though I don't know how I feel
But I know I'll do the right thing
If the right thing is revealed
That's always the problem though, isn't it? All the best intentions and love in the world can only be backed by knowing what do with it. How can someone who doesnt even know what the hell he's thinking half the time possibly fix something in a frantic panic. Maybe Ms. Annonymous e-mail was right. Maybe I am better off dead. Oh well, not doing that anytime soon.
Cause it's always raining in my head, and it's been a while sense I've gazed at the stars.
Your words to me just a whisper
Your faces so unclear
I try to pay attention
Your words just disappear
'Cause its always raining in my head
Forget all the thing's I should have said
I used to be a master of words. Despite not speaking for the majority of my life, I always knew what to say. I'm lost. Always I have seemed distracted, preoccupied, curious. I always had something on my mind to make me seem like that. Now I am mute, trapped, dead. Too many things assualt my concious and mind that I am clogged.
So I speak to you in riddles
'cause my words get in my way.
I smoke the whole thing to my head
and feel it wash away
'cause i can't take anymore of this,
I want to come apart
or dig myself a little hole
inside your precious heart
...my safe haven. Always confortable, always safe. It was home, and now I've set everything dear to me into a blender and pressed "puree". I shut myself off from the one thing that made everything make sense. I notice this, and weather the reasons are valid or not, I still did it. You know how hard it is to look at everything you don't have and say that you did it to yourself? It's easy to blame it on other people, but even with a good cause to your affect...it still kills you. Perpetual death from a peronally induced wound.
'Cause its always raining in my head
Forget all the things I should have said
I am nothing more than a little boy inside
That cries out for attention
though I always try to hide
'Cause I talk to you like children,
Though I don't know how I feel
But I know I'll do the right thing
If the right thing is revealed
That's always the problem though, isn't it? All the best intentions and love in the world can only be backed by knowing what do with it. How can someone who doesnt even know what the hell he's thinking half the time possibly fix something in a frantic panic. Maybe Ms. Annonymous e-mail was right. Maybe I am better off dead. Oh well, not doing that anytime soon.
Cause it's always raining in my head, and it's been a while sense I've gazed at the stars.