Sometimes, when I'm left alone all the dead souls come to visit.
All the ghosts, all the memories, come to life. All the wounds are opened wide.
The blood keeps dripping, the tears keep falling - it's always a mess, when I'm left alone.
When I'm alone, it's always dark, because there's no one to turn on the lights,
and they like the darkness - the dead.
All the ghosts, all the memories, come to life. All the wounds are opened wide.
The blood keeps dripping, the tears keep falling - it's always a mess, when I'm left alone.
When I'm alone, it's always dark, because there's no one to turn on the lights,
and they like the darkness - the dead.
I can't escape them, I can't hide, because obviously the dead swim in the darkness much better and I am.
I always drown. I sink like the fucking Empire State Building, collapsing under the weight of my own hopes and dreams.
Today is one of those days, and the dead are all here.
They walk back and forth in my living room, sit on my couch, look into my soul (and I can't stand it when they do that), they would even eat my noodles, but they can't hold the chopsticks. Basic physics of the afterlife.
It's kinda crowded in my small apartment with all of them here, and I feel like there's no air. I'm only inhaling this darkness, it's crawling into my throat, and it's thick, like a fog, and salty like solitude.
And there's a constant music, somewhat like a Pink Floyd song, with that vinyl records distant acoustics.
My tongue is getting numb, my eyes are drying out, my nostrils are widen, and my blood is getting too lazy to run throughout my veins. I guess it too understands that there's really no point.
And all the dead are coming closer, and surround me,
"We know that feeling", they say, "it's comforting, to realize that you're dying."
And all I'm waiting for, is this shredded poor heart to stop biting,
because while it is - I keep seeing you right in front me, as if you were that bright light in the end of the tunnel they're all talking about...
I always drown. I sink like the fucking Empire State Building, collapsing under the weight of my own hopes and dreams.
Today is one of those days, and the dead are all here.
They walk back and forth in my living room, sit on my couch, look into my soul (and I can't stand it when they do that), they would even eat my noodles, but they can't hold the chopsticks. Basic physics of the afterlife.
It's kinda crowded in my small apartment with all of them here, and I feel like there's no air. I'm only inhaling this darkness, it's crawling into my throat, and it's thick, like a fog, and salty like solitude.
And there's a constant music, somewhat like a Pink Floyd song, with that vinyl records distant acoustics.
My tongue is getting numb, my eyes are drying out, my nostrils are widen, and my blood is getting too lazy to run throughout my veins. I guess it too understands that there's really no point.
And all the dead are coming closer, and surround me,
"We know that feeling", they say, "it's comforting, to realize that you're dying."
And all I'm waiting for, is this shredded poor heart to stop biting,
because while it is - I keep seeing you right in front me, as if you were that bright light in the end of the tunnel they're all talking about...
Who said you can't die of a broken heart?
