She thought she wrote from sorrow–
From deep blue hopeless seas.
She really writes from anger,
Wheels turning faster as she seethes.
What's the point in speaking up,
When your plane just gets shot down?
Tired of rebuilding from the rubble,
She learned to vent without a sound.
They think she was born to run,
They couldn't be more wrong.
She was born to stay– and build,
But not to that cursed **** song.
Her father played that tune for years,
It reverberates in her bones.
So she never picked up a guitar–
Nor made anger her bands promo.
Jan 21
Jan 21, 2026 at 11:04 AM UTC
She thought she wrote from sorrow–
From deep blue hopeless seas.
She really writes from anger,
Wheels turning faster as she seethes.
What's the point in speaking up,
When your plane just gets shot down?
Tired of rebuilding from the rubble,
She learned to vent without a sound.
They think she was born to run,
They couldn't be more wrong.
She was born to stay– and build,
But not to that cursed **** song.
Her father played that tune for years,
It reverberates in her bones.
So she never picked up a guitar–
Nor made anger her bands promo.
