(no subject)
you're singing me this lullabye
of razor blades and bitter skyes
and every word that comes out
is cliche and filled with doubt
the words, enough to make me weep
plastic, disposeable and cheap
we're looking through windows, and breathing cold air
our eyes are search lights, looking for what's not there
the poetry, your silly words
another rhyme already heard
because we're choir of angels residing in a cold hell
we're just living these days in a numb spell
we go on with verses and beds to reside,
alive on the outside, but dead inside.
of razor blades and bitter skyes
and every word that comes out
is cliche and filled with doubt
the words, enough to make me weep
plastic, disposeable and cheap
we're looking through windows, and breathing cold air
our eyes are search lights, looking for what's not there
the poetry, your silly words
another rhyme already heard
because we're choir of angels residing in a cold hell
we're just living these days in a numb spell
we go on with verses and beds to reside,
alive on the outside, but dead inside.