buried alive
blog post
in this wretched place
we stew in our own mistakes
with boiling blood we say
"everything is great"
but what do you say when every word is a lie?
what will you do since you are just growing up to die?
old timer, coal miner, breathe in my dust
i live in lust with the dark days
where the skies are cold and grey
life seems so constant and plain
you could take my head at the gallows
or you could bring this war to my front door
but you never were a friend in the first place
we found you out
and whats really worth shouting about?
my head is a mess and friends are like dead ends
but i set the bricks in the grout, so what the fuck am i complaining about?
fuck
-j
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