The sun will never come out.
Please don't open your mouth.
To Hell with all of this.
All of this.
I'm so sick and tired of being excrement
to you.
Stand in your own circle.
Be apart of the popular.
Unique is what we were?
I won't conceal these scars
You left me.
And when we burn and die,
and all of this is over:
I will know that I am right,
and not some four leaved clover.
And, as I ascend
into the parting mists,
I will watch all of you,
drowning in your piss.
