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Take one persons tragedy and force the world to experience it. |
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And spread it like sickness. |
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If happiness is a warm gun. |
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Then pull the trigger and let me feel the blood |
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Run down my back, into my lungs. |
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Show me something real; give me something i can touch; |
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Give me the chance to grasp this pain, to use it to my advantage. |
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As the blood seeps through my lungs |
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My whole world shatters into a million pieces. |
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On my hands and knees, i crawl through broken glass |
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Mirrors in my eyes. where my dreams once used to lie. |
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This is a disease i can't control. |
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It infitrates every cell, every thought, every part of my being. |
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Sweat, and tears, and blood have all been deemed meaningless; |
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The antidote has been found, but the cure remains fatal |
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To reality i know. |
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Nihilism once killed a dream |
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And sparked a flame which never died, |
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That grew and birthed into something terrible |
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Which destroyed the world and destroyed his mind. |
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He never knew what murdered his hope |
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And why through his eyes he saw only black; |
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Nothing remained that was worthy of substance. |
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Blood seeped from his eyes, as he swallowed his tears |
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And the boy was sad. |
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And the boy was sad. |
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And the boy was sad. |
