Friday, the third – me crumbling in the shower again:
an inner waterfall of regrets and words is dragging me to hell.
Intense, sharped and weak drops carve my body
And I count the minutes, 30 minutes to forget you.
The loneliness, my old friend, came to town
and I am finally the saddest boy around.
Time goes by, slowly,
And I am patiently facing the truth
or what I like to call ‘truth’.
I am counting the minutes,
I am counting the lacks:
Drugs, sex, promiscuity, drinks
an orgy of dead feelings is dancing inside my heart:
Loudly, voraciously and selfishly.
Who am I dying for?
I guess this is the anesthesia,
the pain before the gain,
This is the hymn for the ones like us:
The heartbrokens who play the heartbreakers.