Underground_Network
April 15th, 2008, 07:52 PM
Untitled
I'm playing Russian roulette with my soul every day.
And one day I fear the bullet will penetrate
And there will be no more of me.
Sadly, this fake revolver with its imaginary bullets can’t seem
To make done what I want done.
It can’t seem to push out the bad thoughts,
And replace them with the good thoughts.
I pull the imaginary trigger and a bang goes off in my head,
But I’m still alive, and I’m still grasping for the better air.
But this air, my air, your air, is so polluted.
I just can’t seem to take one clean breath…
I just can’t seem to hold on to what is dear…
I keep spinning the gun in circles,
I keep praying for said gun to point towards me.
I keep praying that the bullets are real.
I keep praying that it will be quick, no pain.
I keep praying my sanity will stay intact.
But I’m not religious, and my prayers do me no good.
And one day this gun will point towards me,
And there will be no turning back.
The imaginary will become the real.
The fake bullets will pierce skin and bone.
The fake bullets will make memories disappear.
The fake bullets will kill the peace.
The fake bullets will kill it all.
The end will come, from the fake bullets, in my imaginary gun.
Its crap I know. :/
I'm playing Russian roulette with my soul every day.
And one day I fear the bullet will penetrate
And there will be no more of me.
Sadly, this fake revolver with its imaginary bullets can’t seem
To make done what I want done.
It can’t seem to push out the bad thoughts,
And replace them with the good thoughts.
I pull the imaginary trigger and a bang goes off in my head,
But I’m still alive, and I’m still grasping for the better air.
But this air, my air, your air, is so polluted.
I just can’t seem to take one clean breath…
I just can’t seem to hold on to what is dear…
I keep spinning the gun in circles,
I keep praying for said gun to point towards me.
I keep praying that the bullets are real.
I keep praying that it will be quick, no pain.
I keep praying my sanity will stay intact.
But I’m not religious, and my prayers do me no good.
And one day this gun will point towards me,
And there will be no turning back.
The imaginary will become the real.
The fake bullets will pierce skin and bone.
The fake bullets will make memories disappear.
The fake bullets will kill the peace.
The fake bullets will kill it all.
The end will come, from the fake bullets, in my imaginary gun.
Its crap I know. :/