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Artifact of the Unknown Days
I am a brief and passing thing
The piece of you I keep inside of me is tearing me apart
I feel like a doll soaked in blood and trapped in shade
We always will stay in lugubrious nihilism
That's really all we can do at this twisted point
But we can form wings of optimistic,nihilistic joys
Epicurean skies
We throw our hands from our bodies,into the air
To try to reach the skies
And dance around bleeding out
And now I lose weeks
And days
And I sit in a gunned thorn bush
Preparing to be shipped
Away by others
When you've been alone for long enough