Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Drink.

All I want to do, is reach into this fucking screen and choke you.
Stick some fucking dynamite in this joint, and blow it all to Hell.
All I want to do, is shred you, dead you, spit on you, slap you.
All I want to do is show you, that your rules don't apply to me,
that they don't even apply to you.
All I fucking want to do, is find out why it's all so fucking DEAD.

Fucking jerk off,
Self Indulgence says,
just pull it out and hit that shit,
you fucking jerk off,
you piss weak excuse,
too cold for guilt,
too righteous to be ashamed,
hit it, pull it out and fucking hit it

And then I try but it's dead too.
And the photos on the wall stare at me
while I stare at the
dead eyes on a dead cow filled with dead fucking meat.

So I pick up the guitar and it's all fucking A minor and D
and I'm starting to see,

not that it's the first time,

why they just wanted to smash it burn it treat it like a junkie whore
who's clawing desperation is up in your face - give it to me - and begging for a fix,
it's
the second instrument to
betray your investment
this fucking dead cat gut on a dead fucking tree and my dead fucking fingers

So I walk outside and it's raining and I scream at it,

This whole fucking world is dead.

Bu the rain doesn't care,
it's either trying to bring it back to life,
or wash away the evidence.

So I go the pub
just sit there and drink,
and someone says,
hey, we haven't seen you for a while,
what's been happening,
and I say,

just work, brother, same old...

Same.

Old.

Then I say,

Fuck this, let's have shots.

And we do,

and the fuel starts the fire
and the fire makes me hungry
and the hunger makes me restless
and I forget to care
about me

and I forget to care
about you.

The Honesty of Selfishness.

And it's the drink,
they'll say,

it's always the drink.

But you've got it all wrong.

It's not the drink.

It's never the drink.

It's everything fucking else.

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