This is my dream, not the type where I lose sleep, but the type where my
Neaighbors don't cook crack in the night, I want to bed happy and kill all
The
Sheep,
But no one else seems to shit as the rest of the world stand knee deep in
Blood
And bloded hypocrite's.
It's gasoline dream, cook the rocks I'm just a mute, I smell ammonia in the
Hallway, the neaighbors howl like prostitutes.
I keeps it under my tongue, he kills the walls with power tools, still
Awake I
Can't sleep, his walls shake my living room.
I can hear his voice trickle down the back of my head, shivers lost, my
Eyes are
Dry, I'm lying vexed in my bed.
It's not me that's just a hostage, his whole life is crystal meth, I only
Pray to
Beg unconscious, an old man to quick death.
He starts to moan, breaking everything, arms show where track sit, a tortured
Life burns gas, he hopes to find his wrists slit.
In a pretty boys world, except I walk with ugly sticks, he sells his life for
Drug deals, then he lies the fucking hypocrite.
It's gasoline dream- pretty people never die
It's gasoline dream- he lives his life up in the sky
It's gasoline dream- he lost his youth and wonders why
It's gasoline dream- he doesn't so why should I?
It's little Marcel, on his way to the glue factory, I'll slam my fingers
In the
Door, I'm living happily.
Just another tortured soul lost in track marks, listen soft, he drags his
Limbs,
As I'm sitting in the dark.
I can hear his every word slightly cussed through slamming doors, shattered
Glass it symbols nothing as he shivers across the floor.
Barley sprung he lifts his arms as he starts his tail spin, burns his
Rocks to
Pass out, mouth painted in thin grins. AHHHHHHH!
He tops it all off, he drinks his smiles to show abuse, shows his needles
In his
Arms, his mouth is full of antibuse.
He's just so pretty like the people in my neighborhood, this world's a bad
Dream, and it's just so understood.
It's gasoline dreams, eyes closed, I'm just a mute, I watch a life we
Built from
Cobwebs,
A walking coffin's absolute, I keeps it under my thumb, a loaded mouth that
Loves to shoot,
Subtle hearts I hear him coughing, still except no substitutes,
I'm just a lonely boy's smile, still draped in common sense, I hold
Disaster in
My palms,
As I bleed my complements, he starts to moan, never ending a simple life
That's
Blacked out,
He sold he's blood for tracked skin with the pipe inside his mouth,
Keeps the fingers ever ready encase he's got to scrap some more,
Boiled lust from a spoon plays the roll of carnivore, sold his love for a
Fix,
Tells the tales across his arms,
A stolen night to pass sin, as he stairs on to his scars, a comfort zone that
Win, as he wonders where we are