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The first night after your released, |
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no one expects you to get much sleep. |
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Your the waking walking dead. |
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In my case, I'm not much better. |
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Walk through the kitchen and grab a marker. |
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Trace the path the blood will flow. |
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The lines I wear around my wrists are there to prove that I exist. |
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Tomorrow it will be easier to forgive myself, and remember her |
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without a guilty head, these nightmare lines, an empty heart. |
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We take for granted all the things that make us who we are. |
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Get up. Get dressed. Go to work. They all know who you are. |
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They can't believe you'd show up here, but that's just who they are. |
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Set up shop at your machine, calibrate, remember who you are. |
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Here lies clarity in a perfect grave comprised of perfect steel. |
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The perfect blade glows a perfect white against the perfect lines from this perfect night. |
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I'm the perfect picture of complacency, and that's all I feel. |
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Slow motion replaces real time, |
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as the horror fills their eyes. |
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These claws will never kill again. |
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(These lines I wear around my wrists |
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are there to prove that I exist.. |
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..these lines I wear around my wrists..) |
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I am a monster clothed in crimson sleeves |
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and perforated lines where my wrists should be. |
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A warehouse full of workers scramble like a pack of |
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bewildered wolves as my world turns black, |
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and I fall. (x5) |
