We're all on this journey,
(I get it)
But why do all the saints leave early?
They leave us crying,
They leave us screaming,
Stuck with the demons who all get to live and thrive.
It's kind of tragic,
The blackest magic,
Could not revive my father from Death's gaping maw,
Or any others,
The sisters, brothers,
And in a steady march, Death's coming for us all.
If I get there,
(and)
I don't see you,
(could)
You please call out to me,
Tell me that you're there?
(or)
If there's nothing,
(just)
Endless blackness,
(I)
Guess it wouldn't matter,
I'd be less than air.
Animal noises,
(they're)
Scratching, tearing,
(at)
My little sanity,
So tell me that you're there!
(or)
If you're nothing,
(what)
I'm afraid of,
(then)
I guess that nothing matters,
God just doesn't care.
I feel like I'm burning,
(forget it)
Shackled depression in a cage of apathy,
It turns to numbness,
I'm under duress,
Stuck with the monsters who all get to live and thrive.
Eyes pried wide open,
I've lost all hope, and,
This never-ending sadness brought me to my knees,
Watching the others:
Destruction lovers,
That get to go around just doing as they please.
Drummer of the now-defunct TOOFUNCHILD, guitar/synth/backup vox of current A Million Rich Daughters, and solo musician
brett.grant.5 draws influence from a wide range of musical sources and genres, ranging from 1920's jazz to video game music and experimental indie rock....more
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