Take me with you.
I've had too much of here.
And this small shrub's not enough anymore.
It delivered as promised,
But the pain reappears,
And once I've run out I'm just left feeling sore.
Open the doors,
For the walls are too close,
And I must have my space,
And you're standing too near.
It used to be nice,
But now that drum in my head,
Beats only a rhythm of fear and of dread.
I can't get away,
For where would i go?
It's hard to find a place that yourself wouldn't know.
And the drum hits hard.
You don't know; I don't say.
I won't show; you won't stay.
The drum hits hard.
Sep 20, 2011
Sep 20, 2011 at 5:15 AM UTC
Take me with you.
I've had too much of here.
And this small shrub's not enough anymore.
It delivered as promised,
But the pain reappears,
And once I've run out I'm just left feeling sore.
Open the doors,
For the walls are too close,
And I must have my space,
And you're standing too near.
It used to be nice,
But now that drum in my head,
Beats only a rhythm of fear and of dread.
I can't get away,
For where would i go?
It's hard to find a place that yourself wouldn't know.
And the drum hits hard.
You don't know; I don't say.
I won't show; you won't stay.
The drum hits hard.
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