In a dim-lit room
words left unspoken
our lips are sealed
our hearts wide open
without a word
a lot is said
when we both share
this Queen sized bed

I don’t want to do this
I just want to hide,
just curl up in a ball
while I wait here to die
I don’t know what to say
when you ask me what’s wrong
I wish I could tell you
but I’m just not that strong

the truth is, that
I just don’t feel like living
in a world so judgemental,
so cold, unforgiving
I give it my all
all this world does is take
and it still makes no difference
It’s always the same

I could just disappear
and no one would lose sleep
there’d be someone there
in my place in a week
I just don’t want to do this
I just want to hide
I’m curled up in the darkness
just waiting to die

twenty one frets
for my six stretched strings
I learned the words to covers,
but I never learned to sing

but when I’m sitting in my room
my hands on my guitar
my heart beats like a metronome
and I feel like a star

As you turn each page
Each one yellowed with age
They tell a story of a life
That ended with a knife
Not a happy story
Maybe slightly gory
Maybe a little sad
Maybe happy, just a tad
You turn each page
Each more yellowed with age
Your eyes full of wonder
As the story puts you under
Some sort of mystical dream
Where nothing is what it should seem
But all turns to bad
All happy turns to sad
As you turn to the last page
Yellowed with age
You see a life full of struggle and strife
Ending with a knife