Dead Ends
This is how the walls collapse
There's nothing more to see
There is no more to me
Except a fucking joke
And a white collar dream
These lasting thoughts could fit in a forty ounce bottle
This tragic model could swallow me whole
I'm done being a fiend
Demons reaching deep
The Devil's on my back
Or if not he better be
Late to the party
Scaling the ladder
Swallowing pride that's served on a platter
Held softly in my hands
Delicately laced plans
Stopped on the way to the place to wait for someone to understand
And until then I'll wait in silence
Wolves wearing fleece
Folded hearts get creased
Writer/s: Grey Matter
