When you're mostly a ghost, nothing seems to really matter.
Nothing seems to taste as good as it used to, when or if you really were real.
The mornings aren't as charming, the drinks not as sweet, the emotions not as deep.
It's almost like you're walking in your sleep, but the sudden, accidental bumps up against a wall don't seem to wake you up.
Or the pain, when it should be searing, just isn't really there, we sometimes pretend to care.
Sometimes the sky is there outside, and then sometimes it's not.
Sometimes mistakes come back to haunt you, sometimes they only rot.
"Sometimes" is only "sometimes" part of the time, but "all the time" is "all the time" every fucking time, and all the time i chase this over and over in my head, endlessly. This never ends...
The Bad dreams and the fears all wash away, like the way the rain washes the filth from your face, dirty, dirty and then clean...it goes down the drain with all the hope again.
It makes me think alot, some say "too much", but what is "too much" nowadays?
Maybe they don't think ENOUGH, 'cause they don't have the time, i'm next to you but dead inside, lost only in my mind.
i can't shake all this emptiness, there's nothing left to be.
Then someone grabs a pistol, there's nothing left to see.
Goddamn this place...