your game
Your so unclean,
you say your better off back then,
painting all the windows black,
holding everything back
with as wicked as this is.
your like a burning star.
I still remeember when the game began.
and now you sit there so unclean.
Dead roses in a glass
memories in a shamble.
the chaines still rattle
everything is just a memory.
The bleeding,
the beatings,
finally its over.
Im better of now
but the disaster still consumes
like pooring salt in my wounds.
all the little games
now im so filthy
dripping with your game.
you say your better off back then,
painting all the windows black,
holding everything back
with as wicked as this is.
your like a burning star.
I still remeember when the game began.
and now you sit there so unclean.
Dead roses in a glass
memories in a shamble.
the chaines still rattle
everything is just a memory.
The bleeding,
the beatings,
finally its over.
Im better of now
but the disaster still consumes
like pooring salt in my wounds.
all the little games
now im so filthy
dripping with your game.