by Will Burgers

Created on: November 07, 2009

Water bottles and zip-loc bags,
line the floor like porno mags,
a DVD of quantum leap's on TV.
Cigarettes and Sam in drag,
look at me like I'm the fag,
but none of them knows why I've been deceiving.

Stumbling like a waking dog,
through the sky more like a bog,
the night air is the only thing worth feeling.
Turning tricks just like a cog,
one step down beneath the rock,

at least the rock can roll without peeling.

And I'm passing time, wasting away,
I'll just buy one more time, i just need one more day.
Just killing time, wasting my say,
I'll just buy one more time, the world's dying anyway.

But when i'm dead and deceased,
well i won't regret a thing.
See one thing that regret needs,
is the ability to think.
And i'll be deep under the earth,
with worms eating through my brains,
they say nothing will hurt,
cause you need feeling to feel pain.

Wendy's bags and Combos crumbs,
line the floor like cracked out bums.
Please don't say that we're a perfect matching.
Notepad scribbles and sketches come,
from a world beyond the sun,
I don't know why they chose my mind for hatching.

Tumbling through a waking fog,
heavy eyes and heavily drugged,
the night air is the only thing worth breathing.
Breaking cogs just like a rock,
leaving wrenches all in shock,
at least if I go down, I'll go down bleeding.

And I'm passing time, wasting away,
I'll just buy one more time, I just need one more day.
It's so hard to find, anything to say,
It's the end of the world, it's all been said anyway.

But when I'm dead and expired,
I won't be proud of a thing,
see I'm always really tired,
and I always over-think,
and when I'm deep beneath the ground,
and feeding the trees,
and there's no trumpet sound,
and a faulty kind of peace.

And no world or memory,
like before i was born.
What's the point of living,
when no one's keeping score.
With no truth or reward,
just the end of existence,
should i be scared or just bored,
of the life that I've been given?

But don't say the problem is within me,
because there's no such thing as problems,
just a bunch of stupid atoms,
that think that they're alive!

Don't say it's just my outlook,
when you can't look inside,
just a bunch of %&$@ing organs,
that can't think or wish or try.

And don't say that things will get better,
because I'm only getting deader,
one more day's just one less day for me.

And don't say that things will get better,
because I'm only getting deader.
Yeah, one more day's just one less day for me.

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