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Contributed by Exodus on Saturday, 6th May 2006 @ 05:29:17 PM in AEST
Topic: DarkPoetry

What a sick cycle, right upside my head like the butt of a rifle
And I struggle to get a grip or catch a break
But its really just complaining, thank God that its not raining
Because that would really be great
It isn't so confusing, I'm just sick of losing
Like all the pieces of my brain are rusted
I want to be intriguing, instead I turn out deceiving
Like my composure itself is busted
I try to jump and catch a lump in the bottom of my throat
Someone holds it over my head
Maybe they will drop or their head will pop
Right around to change green to red

Copyright © Exodus ... [ 2006-05-06 17:29:17]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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