4 am. I feel the eyes, they’re digging in. My skin is too tight, I am losing my grip. There is no silence in this house. An image of a clock is all I see. How it ticks each second away from me, filling my heart with dreadful doubt.
Watching my time run out, questions all sounds. Will I ever get closure? Did the world do this to me or is it a disorder?
The silence is mocking me, it’s never ending. As the visions pick at my brain, I’m hostage to agony.
Endless, repeated, rage-filled ticks continue to click inside my skull. No future to be seen, never to grow old. The only way I’ll truly sleep is with a bullet hole.
I’m begging to swing. I’m begging to swing.
Begging to swing, maybe then I’ll fucking sleep. As the snap of rope shatters through my spine. I can’t wait to die.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
