sábado, 17 de abril de 2010

Dying the suicide.

Dying the suicide.

Rolling heads I have your brain,
the dishwasher cleans now the rests
as I falter between the hands of god.

All is nothing but a lie,
some kind of plot between god…
and the imagination running wild.

Am I bleeding?
of course I’m not,
it’s just strawberry jam.

This is the final scenery for my demise
and I’m here walking the plank alone.

Am I big enough to face you?

Time will give a taste of life
as the blood drips one last breath,
I am ready to take you there,
I’ll be the guidance to the fall.

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