What was only supposed to be a passing thought,
Has turned into a brick wall.
A supposed breeze of indifference,
Is quaking inside my head.
You pull the strings so predictably,
Yet my heart plays in the pitch black.
Don't know why I waste my time
When you're just another dead end.
Falling for an idea, a thrill, a chance
Never fearing the inevitable
On a one way train to nowhere
where the inevitable fears me
I'm such a switch.
I'm sick of this.
You know, you know,
What the problem is?
It's this.
It's that.
It's me.
Again.
It's this.
It's that.
It's me.
The end?
No comments:
Post a Comment