I spend my nights dead face down on my floor,
but the drugs aren't really working anymore.
The nights are mostly just despressed
from staring at my open chest.
I'm bleeding and I'm heartless but I'm yours.
And i'm scratching down every blurry scene
on the mattress where you used to sleep and dream.
I'd rather chew on broken glass
then keep on living in the past
and wasting time on words I know you didn't mean.
Dear everybody, or whoevers listening.
I think I'm going to do me in this time
This is all overrated, waiting on my roof again
This is the end of my so called life
I haven't seen the sun in about a week
and I'm keeping all sharp objects out of reach.
I finally know the taste of love
it's a cross between cheap beer and blood
with an aftertaste of dry sarcastic speech.
And so I guess it's safe to say
that we both knew that I'd end up this way
With a brain that's clueless and unsure
Eyes that hardly ever work
But I guess that's fine I rarely use them anyway
(Chorus: x3)
Dear Everybody, This is the end of my so called life.