I wanted to write a story.
But the plots still always the same and that shit's really getting boring.
Touring through my though process I found out things I'm storing.
Kept it secret to myself to keep the demons from exploring.
Where do all the seconds go when my brain is acknowledging them?
Why do I take a pill each day so I can call other people "friend"?
I'm stuck inside a cycle,
never ending doom and all that shit.
And to really be an honest Abe, I'm fucking sick of this.
But love is supposed to hurt sometimes, I guess that's all there is.
