| The first night after your released
|
| No one expects you to get much sleep
|
| Your the waking walking dead
|
| In my case, I’m not much better
|
| Walk through the kitchen and grab a marker
|
| Trace the path the blood will flow
|
| The lines I wear around my wrists are there to prove that I exist
|
| Tomorrow it will be easier to forgive myself, and remember her
|
| Without a guilty head, these nightmare lines, an empty heart
|
| We take for granted all the things that make us who we are
|
| Get up. |
| Get dressed. |
| Go to work. |
| They all know who you are
|
| They can’t believe you’d show up here, but that’s just who they are
|
| Set up shop at your machine, calibrate, remember who you are
|
| Here lies clarity in a perfect grave comprised of perfect steel
|
| The perfect blade glows a perfect white against the perfect lines from this
|
| perfect night
|
| I’m the perfect picture of complacency, and that’s all I feel
|
| Slow motion replaces real time
|
| As the horror fills their eyes
|
| These claws will never kill again
|
| (These lines I wear around my wrists
|
| Are there to prove that I exist.
|
| .these lines I wear around my wrists.)
|
| I am a monster clothed in crimson sleeves
|
| And perforated lines where my wrists should be
|
| A warehouse full of workers scramble like a pack of
|
| Bewildered wolves as my world turns black
|
| And I fall. |
| (x5) |