Take these fingers so I can't write again
Sew my mouth shut so I can't misspeak
Fold me up, and drop me off along the edge of the road.
I don't know how far I'll have to walk away from this,
and if I'll ever go far enough to live.
Everything races by so quickly I just dissapear and fall into a daze.
If we're all alienated, then are we not ourselves,
or was I more myself alone?
There's no rock bottom, the floor spins to the end,
down Ash Tree Lane.
Was I more myself naked with other people?
Will I ever be me to you again?
"Stop asking questions.
Stop freaking out.
I told them you were sleeping,
now just come back."
Our Languages are dead, oh but is it really such a shame.
We know everything has already been said anyway.
And who's blame but you and me for lacking any of our own individual thought, and just perpetuating these stagnant words.
But now I'm saying, "Emotion is art's heart..... and I'll be home in 3."