Pencils come with lead
Nothing feels the same
This ambiance will take the lost, torture them again
As old re-runs of my past life circle around my head
I can feel them being replayed down to every scrupulous detail
I can feel good like this
If I never look back and fuck all the same remiss
Remission told through the eyes of no one in particular
An old bearded man that no one listens to
And now I’m so tired
I feel my legs growing and as my shoes feel like 10 gallon jugs
I shuffle back to a place where I know I’ll hate myself
My eyes are filling with lead
Maybe make a pencil and fill it up again
Than I can write down everything that I am feeling
While never really writing anything at all
It’s like being an angel, I can’t feel your touch
If I could I know it’d be cold and clammy and fake
Leisurely walk towards my own demise
I take my time
Stop to look at the world, oh it’s something else that’s not mine
So to stop
To go on and let this become a new work that I’ll fuck up
I never did anything that I can not regret
And I can never forget
I wish I’d just forget
Take my mind with a brush and fucking clean it
Maybe put some happy thoughts of things that never were
I can be fake
So take my memory
And let it go
Clean it out and buy me a new one
