Feeling's like this.
What is real?
Where is the bliss?
My soul it ****'s.
Out come's the blood, it spills, it spills.
Being pumped with these artificial feeling's,
So surreal.
Fed false faith and archaic hope.
Do yourself a favor,
tie finely together your rope.
A noose to end it all, a noose to have your problems weigh.
A noose to be the solution at the end of the day.
Life is Artificial.