Well do you to want to talk about it,
Do you think you'd understand,
How things can get so fucked up with such good intentions.
If roofs turn to sky,
Held by the gravity of nothing,
An ironic and literal making of a bed.
You can walk away,
But there is a reason to stay.
They make bad jokes,
it's okay not to laugh.
For every push foward,
you get the same fucking push back.
You have nowhere to go,
so you found someplace,
you have nothing to say you start lying
What the fuck were you thinking
I'm not sorry
I'd do it all again.
Now with all the lines so burred between hate,
Are just dead feelings.