I cross the yellow lines listening, wanting some punk destruction. Speeding, now, always, down the hill in N. I floor the pedal, screaming to the nightdreamers I was here. Burning the gasoline in my veins. They stay asleep. They don't deserve my howl, my cry, my kiss, but I'll keep screaming until my heart stops beating.
Hell is if I actually died.
Aug 3, 2010
Aug 3, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC
I cross the yellow lines listening, wanting some punk destruction. Speeding, now, always, down the hill in N. I floor the pedal, screaming to the nightdreamers I was here. Burning the gasoline in my veins. They stay asleep. They don't deserve my howl, my cry, my kiss, but I'll keep screaming until my heart stops beating.
Hell is if I actually died.
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