i'm, under the impression everything happens for a reason
to, the world my life becomes hunting season
you, havent given me anything but hatred
I, seem to violate the holy pretence
I, am only trying to make my existance make sense
We, have lost the privelige of being human
There, was neva any right to be ourselves
I wish that i was dead
More than i think for you
Its to bad ive already accomplished this,
This wish
No, more than any1 have i been obscure
Why, did life have 'love to hate' the is no cure
He, he wanted me to write & portray
Sadly, I over done & overcome my sanity
I wish there was nothing left in me
More that i think of you
Your so damn haunting ive finsihed truanting this,
This wish |
