What I WantDid I ask for your help?No, don't think I did,Apparently, though, I'm just a kid.I don't want your disease,I'm already dead,At least now you can't play with my head.Don't force-feed me your lies,I want to keep me,And not be wrecked by society.I know you're not perfect,Well, neither am I,I am sick of living in a lie.Do you see all these scars?The inside ones too,No, because you think it's all taboo.Help me to disappear,It's what we both need,I just can't cope with life's harsh stampede.Please don't try to save me,As I yearn for death,But will you feel bad at my last breath?Don't you dare act sad,When we say goodbye,And don't you dare to look me in the eye.Because;Friends,Family,Enemies,Liars,I know you're not sorry,But please don't worry,Because I'm not either.I know I need your help,I just don't want it,What I want is a nice cosy casket.
They Told UsThey Told Us:They told us we weren't artists,They said that we're just puttin' words on paper...They told us we wouldn't make it,Because language isn't unique...Ta hell with them all I say,Because I know tha truth they seek ta hide.Writers, poets,We're treated like third-rate artists.Our hands can't create magical pictures,We can't create comics ta make people laugh,Or emotive portraits ta make em cry...But what they don't see is tha title,What they don't see is tha description,They don't even see tha comments or replies!They look only at themselves,And at tha talent they seem ta proclaim.It's like starin' at an old english aristocrat,Ignorin' us simply because we're farmers.But what they don't see are the words.Words used ta give a picture context.Withou' a title, a picture is just a mix of colours and lines.Who could understand an image, withou' a title?If art alone suffices, why not let every piece be nameless?I'll tell ya the truth, separated from the
My LifeThe headphones are my I.V.,The songs are my morphine,The lyrics are my breathing machine,The bass my heart-monitor,And the drums are my thermometer.The CDs are my mirrors,The screams are my lip stick,The speakers are my eye liner,The guitar my gelled hair-flick,And the words are my tools for looking finer.The notes are my stars,The records are my moon,The voices are the night-wind's tune,The choruses my Northern Lights,The verses are falling wishes in my sights.The riffs are my therapists,The posters are my friends,The synthesizers are my trends,The backbeats my trouble and strife,Because music is my life.
StereotypeDon't shove a name on me Your stereotype can crash and burn.You cannot keep me down;I will always rise and return.Your labels mean nothing to me Utter nonsense through and through.Every person is unique;I am me and you are you.Skinny, smarty, four-eyed freak...Chubby, lazy, forgetful, meek...Afraid, coward, forgetful fool...Follower, do-gooder, mindless tool.All these names are meaningless I am me and you are you.But when names cease to beHow can you tell who is who?Labels define us and create us Remind us of who we are.Every person is unique,But stereotypes can go too far.
Let's Talk About YouIf I'm dead before sunrise,Will you mourn my demise,Or sing with joy at my fall,Or perhaps you won't notice at all?Why should you?If I tell you my theories and thoughts,Will you send me to an institution of sorts,Or just laugh at my fears,Or be blind to my tears?How could you?If I'm insane by midnight,Will you finally see my plight,Or simply sigh and call it a phase,Or blame some other teen craze?Why would you?If you're dead before sunrise,I will not mourn your demise,Nor sing with joy at your fall,I'll Just act like I don't care at all.Well, it fooled you, didn't it?