This is just a slow dance, it's not meant for
You passed out on the
Floor, sore cement floor.
Woke up, in a daytime douse
The lights clouded your
Visions of the rest
Burning of the saints.
Like I whispered in your ear
It's just a dance.
But you... don't you think I look better
When I'm holding your guns of tomorrow
Shut your eyes tight now
I'm laying on my deathbed either way
Now I'm choking on the life of my secret soul
My life is dancing away to the sounds of…
This is just a slow dance, it's not meant for
You passed out on the
Floor, sore cement floor.
Woke up, in a daytime douse
The lights clouded your
Visio
What a pretty deathbed by Standallalone, literature
Literature
What a pretty deathbed
Oh come all ye faithful
Repulsive and regretful
You dress in your drag
And choke me well
But hush up young child
It's not quite over yet
Don't you care anymore?
You've pretty much exploded my heart
Drown it in a puddle of silent mud
Hung from the vines of your lies
Impaled with corroded daggers
You never were sober…were you?
Oh come all ye faithful
Repulsive and regretful
You dress in your drag
And choke me well
But hush up young child
It's not quite over yet
The rope burns blistering
Wrists sting and bubble crimson
The shotgun goes bang…BANG
Forced water bursts the lungs
And your grip is oh…
So tight it hurts