If the purpose of a song
is to make you feel
as if it were written about you,
then well done.
The melody dragged me down,
just as the words,
so finite and absurd,
in my muddled head spun.
Reiterate my helplessness.
There's no turning back,
fallen, broken, and right on track,
or so the band attests.
Nothing will ever be the same.
Nothing you can say
can make this pain dissipate
until I drain the last drop of blood from my veins.
All shriveled and pathetic,
dying for love unrequited,
how foolish and shortsighted.
How somewhat fitting. How poetic.
A handful of pills and a bottle of wine.
I'll leave the record spinning
so you'll know exactly what I was thinking
as I cried for the last time...
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 12:09 PM UTC
If the purpose of a song
is to make you feel
as if it were written about you,
then well done.
The melody dragged me down,
just as the words,
so finite and absurd,
in my muddled head spun.
Reiterate my helplessness.
There's no turning back,
fallen, broken, and right on track,
or so the band attests.
Nothing will ever be the same.
Nothing you can say
can make this pain dissipate
until I drain the last drop of blood from my veins.
All shriveled and pathetic,
dying for love unrequited,
how foolish and shortsighted.
How somewhat fitting. How poetic.
A handful of pills and a bottle of wine.
I'll leave the record spinning
so you'll know exactly what I was thinking
as I cried for the last time...