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