Irony of dying on your birthday
par Senses Fail
lyricscopy.com
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 fucking 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
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 fucking 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