i dont want to admit this
every time it gets late my thoughts come back
its a comfort thing
but then it becomes a bad thing
i swallow
and i swallow
and then i cry
and i cry
i try not to consume
but it gets late and i feel lost
and i don't want to talk about it
i always feel so empty
i try to fill the space
but its getting to the point
where i want to empty it
i want nothing

A gaping hole
Straight through the brain
Perfectly cylindrical
Holds no mercy as it rings
Through my body

The gun is still smoking
From the heat of his hatred
Shot right through my brain
Can’t even consume it
The idea that he had done it

Silver bullet through my brain

I can't see the bright side
Why'd you look me in the eyes
This time

But let's
Go
Out or something
Lately
I've been feeling
Like its Sunday

So let's
Head
Down to the lake house
Lately
I've been feeling
Like its Sunday
All the time

How many hearts will cause a man to fume
How many heats must be enraged with fire
How many hearts will a hungry soul consume
How many hearts actually follow their life's desire

How many hearts are frozen without a beat
How many hearts are left buried in the cold
How many hearts except total utter defeat
How many hearts never take off the blindfold

These questions we may never know
until we are the lost wandering souls
in the Styx's black meadow
while loved ones are left to condole