| Nothing ever came so easy as the manipulation of her word
|
| Cold and humiliated, i tried to portray this mess
|
| I should fear it
|
| I should give it all to them and be done with it
|
| I fear he maybe found a use
|
| A meaning or comprehension
|
| Some sort of new birth or late coming death
|
| Who’s eyes will govern this judgment?
|
| It’s just not my place to judge who tried or to condemn who cried
|
| I want to be her. |
| I want all of the answers
|
| A crusty and scratchy mess shielded only by burlap
|
| And the satisfaction of knowing
|
| But i know nothing. |
| I am the impostor
|
| The fake bastard holding on to dreams
|
| I want all the answers
|
| I won’t wince at each neck’s snap nor help at the hint of hope
|
| I’ll just lie here wet and willing to provoke you
|
| Still no closure
|
| Cold is so damn trite and evil was never glamorous
|
| Still it sells so fucking buy it as politics mean nothing now
|
| As it’s already in their heads. |
| In their hands it resides a mark
|
| So i leave mine as well to finally be picked apart
|
| Dissected and forgotten
|
| Ignored at best. |
| But it’s still a mark
|
| She gave me rope and i climb |