It's People Like You Who Give People Like Me A Reason To Write Songs Like This About People Like You Paroles

Paroles de It's People Like You Who Give People Like Me A Reason To Write Songs Like This About People Like You

Masochism is the new fashionable accessory for the sadists. All-seeing eyes give the cowardly and timid motivation to wear their afflictions on their sleeves. Saturday night's alright for martyrs and rapists to equate their positions. Golden pillars give way under the weight of prison bars. In this world, the water flows like stale concrete, but at least it's easy to swallow. Rites of bloodletting sway like soulless children, arm in arm with blackout threnodies. “May I have this dance, my love?” A simple series of twirls and gazes into skies incised by our Sisyphean dialogue. Laughing at the sound of it. Forgiveness? -- There's no such luck. It's 4 am and I'm wide awake, blowing oxygen out of this open window. Perhaps she was simply well-versed in her sense of ironic attachment. Perhaps she is wide awake at 4 am too. Tonight I will be courting my demons at a candlelit dinner. I will slip them sleeping pills and have my way with them. She signs her name on her leaden gift so the world will know she was the last thing to go through my mind. Saturday night's alright for forgiveness to be forgotten and left for dead. Knee-deep in a codeine valentine, she's screaming with open arms for the murder scene to cease. Set the stage, baby. The show must go on. Now I watch as she embodies a trigger-happy Don Quixote scripted to crush with the weight of a feather torn from the wings of this blackened November. This last letter I have written will be sealed with the paper upon which you wrote the last letter you gave me. “I love you but my hands are weak. I fear I cannot hold on much longer. You stole my heart; prove to me it's still yours. Hide it deep within the pavement. I want you to keep it forever; just never let it tarnish.” I said I'd wait forever. Today will mark its end. I have waited like a corpse fashioned for a lost soul. I have waited like a lost soul fashioned for your consumption. Your eyes shone brightest under a crimson moonlight, graciously perverse. So let the blood be spilled and these fragments of you be burned away. Ignite the walls and break the windows and anoint your forehead with the ashes in self-consecration because no one lives here anymore, no one lives here anymore, no one lives here anymore. I said I would wait forever for you. I guess I'm just as bad of a liar as you.