I’ll climb inside your rotting corpse
I’ll plant flowers where your eyes once were
I’ll bury your guitar and rhythm less tunes
Right down alongside you
My fox, my friend, my confidant
The last mammal I could depend upon
I don’t think you can rot your way out of this situation
But I’ll bury you with all your songs and all of your ramblings ons
About how your life, our love, my disposition
Was never quite the way you wanted it to be
My fox, my faux, my confidant
I’ll climb inside your rotting corpse
I’ll plant flowers where your eyes once were
I’ll take your half-strung 1984
Gibson Les Paul Explorer
I’ll play it til my calluses bleed
I’ll play it til my calluses bleed
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
Spit your fire.
Shave your mane.
Smoke your *** and I’ll do the same.
Soak in your manic depression
And ill filet a new piece of skin.
Maybe if we manipulate our minds enough
We can forget this ever happened.
I could not quell your depression,
I could not subdue your self-hatred,
I could not conquer your demons
Or your fears or feelings of lack of purpose in this life.
But I made your pain my own
And I was content to soothe a sentiment that was fleeting .
So spit your fire.
Shave your mane
Take your three headed dogs, poetry, and daisy chains
And revel in unhappiness while I do the same
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC