I'm staring at the dark side of the moon.
Promise me that good times are coming soon.
I'm walking on the dark side of the moon, no past, no future, only what's on my plate of doom.
A closed time and space, the killing room.
This single, solitary mind.
Two hands stitched together, one left behind.
Pills couldn't kill this entity of hatred.
Belated dreams, all wasted.
Potions and toxins, surely they wouldn't hurt?
As much as the killers next worn out shirt.
Snakes conceiving their trickiest lies.
Almost as similar as your mothers lullabies.
Making a wish at a wishing well.
Only wishing that all things go swell.
Flutter your eyes at me as things go into the dark side of the moon.
I hear your emotions pouring out of your penniless "get well soon".
Prescribed to me, you speak the ending of this doom.
So I swallow the thoughts, this is known as the killing room.
Lifesuckssmusichelps Lifesuckssmusichelps
18-21, F
1 Response Aug 15, 2014



Thank you :)