Stalins War Wheel Of Weapons
It's the same old tired song; but for some reason, it has
a different meaning this time. A glance in my direction,
flicking sand in my eyes; I'm tired of smiling, of
letting you win. My intonations weak, but my mind feels
strong. We're taking strides next to giants; your face is
forgotten. I didn't mean for it to end this way, holding
all the cards in my hands. My melancholy blood running
through my veins, my black heart pumping is finally
returning to grey. Misunderstanding has now gotten the
best of me. These burning embers are dying away. Don't
look to me for answers, I've killed myself searching.
Cover me in black and feed me to the world. Feed me to a
world filled with liars and thieves; bound my hands,
bound my feet, knock me on my knees. A dozen daisies
destroyed and dead, molded over by the smell of content,
in this place, in this time.
