There's a hope in my head that's been cut
and bled dry as your bloodshot eyes.
And there's smoke in the air
and it's soon to clear revealing our demise.
There are some who say that it's a.o.k.
if it makes you feel alright.
It's just way too bad
now you're worse than sad
all locked up there inside.
And I don't know how you feel
but I'll make you a deal
if you make it out alive.
My shoulders and ears are all yours my dear.
I hope it comes as no suprise.
You've been known to say that you're a.o.k.
when you're feeling sick(dead) inside.
I just want you to know
I've got no place to g until the day you die.
While you're waiting, be thankful for your fingers.
I'll be fading with the colors of your pictures.
"I'm not crying wolf" you whispered,
"I'm really dead this time."
They locked you up.
They threw away the key.
Sutured your mouth shut.
Murdered your family.
Right before your eyes, what could you do?
Right before your eyes, they took it all from you.
You're contemplating you hanging from your ceiling.
I can't help hating you for having that feeling.
I'm not joking when I tell you I'd miss you all the time.
I already miss you all the time.