Semplicemente non capisco cosa ci si aspetta che io faccia.
Qual'è il senso di tornare a casa con il viso grigio, e i capelli colorati,
le mani tremanti e i polmoni che temono di non respirare più?
Troppe sigarette,
for these speeches.
I take off my breath, burning flesh, tear it until it's alive,
and will not count no more my thoughts,
pain will cover the errors, because the
suffering, such as alcohol,
is justified excuse to tear
good intentions.
The perfection of what they have always sought,
a ball soft, warm, fits
body hardened soul wound,
and envelops him, rocking him in his
litany inviting.
pure and imperfect, inconsistent,
always impossible dream
without a known reason,
knowingly harmful
inappropriate terribly
unsatisfactory
yet somehow
full.
What the hell should I do?!
throw away myself for anything, or hold myself and the good, old crying, on his deathbed, in a cliche damned in those days than I could throw away common sense and live the life of the damned?
NOT WANT TO TAKE ANY WAY!
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