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Getting up is getting old
I'm sick of even waking up
what is out there waiting for me?
black clouds and rain that won't let up
a world full of things that irritate my soul,
that make me bleed, make me cry
please let me leave, please let me die
I'm such an ugly person,
I'm just a waste of space
I have no goals,
no reason to be
and I feel I'm losing the race
inside my gnarled, twisted mind
mean thoughts brew and grow
jealousy, sorrow, hate, rage, and greed
are all I seem to know
I guess that I'm just like the world
pointless and confused
full of negativity, but no hope
and sick of being used
and once I'm dead and buried,
my corpse rotting in the ground,
the world will be the exact same place
(no meaning to be found)
but that thought doesn't bother me;
I know that's the way life is
everyone is cold and harsh
like the world they're living in


Last update: Wednesday, February 07, 2001 15:33

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