When the air is thick and soggy
And sticks to the roof of your mouth
Sweaty and salty like muggy peanut-butter
You feel squished and squirmy
The ground ******* up your ankles
And with each step the mad-mans's chains reflect a dark and silent future
Where your hair sticks to your forehead like a psalm
What could have shaped up
to form something this sharp and quick
that can be lovingly::: mutilated?
Remember when you would dive into the pain that plagued you and come out gasping, with a huge smile stretched out on your skin
feeling more alive than you did on your deathbed.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 3:40 PM UTC
When the air is thick and soggy
And sticks to the roof of your mouth
Sweaty and salty like muggy peanut-butter
You feel squished and squirmy
The ground ******* up your ankles
And with each step the mad-mans's chains reflect a dark and silent future
Where your hair sticks to your forehead like a psalm
What could have shaped up
to form something this sharp and quick
that can be lovingly::: mutilated?
Remember when you would dive into the pain that plagued you and come out gasping, with a huge smile stretched out on your skin
feeling more alive than you did on your deathbed.
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