Senses Fail The Irony Of Dying On Your Birthday
(Just know)
(We are)
(A spec)
(In time.)
(So follow your bliss)
(And destroy the beauty)
I'll lock myself alone in a room
Drink until the clock strikes noon
With just a pen, a pill, and some paper
And maybe I will write a sad song
Or another cliche poem
Of the person that I long to be
I wanna die like Jim Morrison
A f..cking rock star
I wanna die like god on the cover of time.
Just a blink and it's gone
So baby pour some fame in my glass.
(So kill the forest)
(And destroy the beauty.)
I'll lock myself alone in a room
Drink until the clock strikes noon
With just a pen, a pill, and some paper
And maybe I will write a sad song
Or another cliche poem
Of the person that I long to be
(Colors blind)
The eyes
(Sounds deafen)
The ear
(Flavors numb)
The taste
(Thoughts weaken)
The mind
I'll attack someone with a switchblade knife
So that I can see their pain
I choose to be a serial killer
'Cause the victims don't get any fame.
I'll lock myself alone in a room
Drink until the clock strikes noon
With just a pen, a pill, and some paper
And maybe I will write a sad song
Or another cliche poem
Of the person that I long to be
Just know, we are, a spec, in time
[Chorus in the background]
