mardi 30 décembre 2008
What's left?
...and when I talked to my friends
and found out that you're having fun,
that you're swallowing life, that you're in the sun,
that you're fucking around,
that you're growing a new one...
I bellow out my voice, I yell out loud,
I have my shirt off in front of a crowd.
I tell them about you, and how you're gone, you're
gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're
gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're
gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're
gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're
gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're
gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're
gone, you're gone, you're gone, you're gone,
But am I lying?
Don't I have you in my mind the entire time?
Yes, I can leave all the places we went
but I can't leave without my bones you bent
so hobble along and now it's me who's gone.
Now it's me who has your fear of opening hearts
and all the false starts
We could near hope again
with this deep gouging biting back
with the way you get all my friends in the sack
"What's left?" I scream as I look up at night
where the novelty has totally worn off of moonlight
"Who cares?" and I roll on the ground
"What gives?" and there's no answering sound
and there's nobody around
and then my answer was found.
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