I hope these words make you cry
I hope your morphine gets you really high
I hope you perish
So burn, burn, burn away
Why must I execrate?
I want to obliterate
I want to designate
Your feeble-minded soul
I hope your sorrow doesn't go away
You, an ungrateful son of a bitch
No one is listening. Nobody cares
So go back to your bottle
And erase your past.
Author's noteI wrote this a few years ago. I think with my sister. But I remember writing most of it. Sometime between 1999-2005
I'm not sure it makes sense.
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