He ran out of things to say How could he run out of things to talk about? His tongue, was drying out Another sixty seconds He wouldn't even be able to make a sound I'm scared, he's scared Dead air, Dead air, Dead air You could **** a lot of things And nobody would look twice Dead air, Dead air He was still grinning Does he not know? I'm dead inside Home no longer a saftey zone He comes I'm here, I'm yours, I'm sick I just wanted to be famous
Just a little poem, written as an assignment from my teacher