My soul came back, quick like lightning,
and it's arrival was not welcome.
Sporting a fresh crack under whitening,
bound with a fate to always be numb.
Everyone desperately craves originality,
but they don't realize the isolation.
There doesn't seem to be a solid home for me,
amongst this dust and desolation.

Horror of hollow, living on the brink of life.
Tomorrow I'll swallow my words that cut like a knife.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
I hope the eruption satisfies your appetite.

The walls were tainted with love struck scribbles,
written in every colour of the rainbow,
so we painted but there still were dribbles,
I slept in a made bed and always reap what I sow.
What does it matter if it's in the past?
There's no reasons that I've found.
But I see a pattern of what doesn't last
and you know lately I'm always down.

You went to rub salt in my wound
I told you that I've had my fill.
You informed me the world was doomed,
and you were looking forward to the thrill.

Horror of hollow, living on the brink of life.
Borrow and follow the world's sense of strife.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
just because that's how you feel it doesn't make it right.

I never knew much about other souls,
until I watched one fall apart,
crumbling from all the cracks and holes,
stemming out from a broken heart.
I was never fluent in social clues,
the ones that tell you what you want to hear,
instead I'd sit silent ready to lose,
what I loved all due to fear.

Horror of hollow, living on the brink of life.
Explorer of wallow, bestfriend and a wife.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
I'll underline the tragedy and italicize my might.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
but how will anyone know if it never makes it into sight?