My heart tells me I'm alive, but am I really living?
In a world full of takers, what am I actually giving?
A half-mast, half-assed, half-empty cup of ****.
Masked in awkward silence and sharp pointed wit.

I'll blame it on the others, say they aren't the same.
When I haven't given reason to remember my name.
Because it's easier to mask the fact that I'm a wreck.
By simply hiding on the wall like a speck.

Doubt and remorse will eventually take it's course.
I'm seeking inspiration, but am blind to it's source.
Hindrance and distraction caused by my reaction,
To the vices that provide me with cheap satisfaction.

Maybe I should simply just give it all away.
Leave town, just drive, without a word to say.
But that would be easy, with admitting defeat.
Another cycle of life that's stuck on repeat.

Sing to me a story of a thousand hungry knives, and a thousand innocent backs, and a thousand angry lies. Then sing me the destruction of a thousand mangy lives, the broken hearts that bled for nothing through a thousand crying eyes.  The river of tears created was a thousand miles wide, and you could swim to your death in your vainest efforts never reaching the other side. There is no escape from what these knives do, no place to run and hide. So sing to the music you must face, or you will die without your pride. Because when the knives are ravenous they’ll have their taste, but it won't be from the front or the side.

Murdering murderers
done gone
melancholy
in the moonlight.
It's midnight.
The perfect time
to commit a crime.

Here's to premeditated drug dealing.
And everything else that can get me
a one way ticket.
To the Devil's bed-room.

I live in the dark.
No -
Not Me
But I.

I'm what
You don't
Admit in daylight
Because I'm
Under the floorboards

I won't decay
Like the other 32 boys
I'll remain
Vengeful.