December
2 January 2008
One two, fucking with you
Three four, shut the door
Five six, kill the chicks
Seven eight, wanna make you late
Nine ten, rip a hole with my pen
I push my fingers into my eyes!
it's the only that slowly stops the ache!
But it's made of all the things I have to take!
Jesus it never ends, it works its way inside!
If the pain goes on... I'm n
Nobody wants anything I've got, wich is fine
Becuase you're made of everything I'm not!
For a hill, men would kill, why? They do not know.
Stiffened wounds test their pride!
Men of five, still alive through the raging glow!
Gone insane from the pain that they surely know!
For whom
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