we are the brand new beatniks. we are the down and outers.
we are the bleeding hearts, beating syncopated, broken rhythm.
our speed is often break neck. we need to slow it down.
tired of being sleepless. tired of being broken.
I faced death. I went in with my arms swinging. But I heard my own breath and had to face that I'm still living. I'm still flesh. I hold on to awful feelings. I'm not dead... My chest still draws breath. I hold it. I'm buoyant. There's no end.
Hey, change isnt necessarily a bad thing. He's looking clean as opposed to dirty... Of course, I'm another person who recently got 90% of his hair mowed off, so I'm just trying to look at the bright side.
sweet blasphemy my giving tree
it hasn't rained in years
i bring to you this sacrificial offering of virgin ears
leave it to me i remain free from all the comforts of home
and where that is i'm pleased as piss to say
i'll never really know
Whenever death may surprise us, let it be welcome if our battle cry has reached even one receptive ear and another hand reaches out to take up our arms.
Nobody's gonna miss me, no tears will fall, no ones gonna weap, when i hit that road. my boots are broken my brain is sore, fer keepin' up with thier little world, i got a heavy load. gonna leave 'em all just like before, i'm big city bound, your always 17 in your hometown
sweet blasphemy my giving tree
it hasn't rained in years
i bring to you this sacrificial offering of virgin ears
leave it to me i remain free from all the comforts of home
and where that is i'm pleased as piss to say
i'll never really know
I couldn't cope with cutting my hair. I've been growing it since I met Stephanie back in June, so if I were to cut it now, I lose what draws attention to me.
I faced death. I went in with my arms swinging. But I heard my own breath and had to face that I'm still living. I'm still flesh. I hold on to awful feelings. I'm not dead... My chest still draws breath. I hold it. I'm buoyant. There's no end.
Whenever death may surprise us, let it be welcome if our battle cry has reached even one receptive ear and another hand reaches out to take up our arms.
Nobody's gonna miss me, no tears will fall, no ones gonna weap, when i hit that road. my boots are broken my brain is sore, fer keepin' up with thier little world, i got a heavy load. gonna leave 'em all just like before, i'm big city bound, your always 17 in your hometown
sweet blasphemy my giving tree
it hasn't rained in years
i bring to you this sacrificial offering of virgin ears
leave it to me i remain free from all the comforts of home
and where that is i'm pleased as piss to say
i'll never really know