I knew it all too well; The howling behind the door in which a cellar lies.
My heart aches to obsoletion; There is pain, yet not.
I've glared from this window six fold and again, then more so than before.
There should be happiness, and there's none.
I clench the cup and stain alcoholic breathing; The darkly of the world and I hurt again.
Nothing can justify the lack of empathy that is felt, and each excuse used clears the throat to speak.
Anything to escape questioning beyond the most human figure that does not comprehend understanding.
My heart aches to obsoletion; There is pain, yet not.
I've glared from this window six fold and again, then more so than before.
There should be happiness, and there's none.
I clench the cup and stain alcoholic breathing; The darkly of the world and I hurt again.
Nothing can justify the lack of empathy that is felt, and each excuse used clears the throat to speak.
Anything to escape questioning beyond the most human figure that does not comprehend understanding.
If agony was alive, the shape it would mold is existence; alone. Desolate. Determined.
There is silence to hear, vibrations and under-tones to a world distraught; my own, which I've lost... myself here.
If anything, he ponders in the distance, a beautiful male that sells his confidence to a dime - the utmost attainment:
Happiness.
I've bought it, as if a soul sold to the devil, and disappointed I've become to the realization, I gave the last of money
to attain this, and yet there is no happiness to be had.
There is silence to hear, vibrations and under-tones to a world distraught; my own, which I've lost... myself here.
If anything, he ponders in the distance, a beautiful male that sells his confidence to a dime - the utmost attainment:
Happiness.
I've bought it, as if a soul sold to the devil, and disappointed I've become to the realization, I gave the last of money
to attain this, and yet there is no happiness to be had.
I know it all too well; the howling behind the door in which a cellar lies, my heart aches to obsoletion; there is pain, yet not. I've glared from this window ten fold and again, then more so than before.
There should be happiness;
and there's none, because it isn't bought, but self-acquired.
There should be happiness;
and there's none, because it isn't bought, but self-acquired.