My anger is getting the best of me.
Fury raging, taking every joy I try to keep.
I'm at the end of the road.
The bend in the rope.
The voice in my head screaming,
'Choke, you can't cope anymore.'
Solace was another empty promise
Holding deceit just behind grinding teeth.
I'm sick of failing,
sick of struggling for self-symmetry I can't reach.
And I'm empty on the inside.
I wear this smiling guise with pride.
If I'm angry, then I'm alive.
I'll drown trying to turn this tide.
In my head, I built a prison from the scars of my past.
In a bed of my own bones,
laid every pleasant memory to rest.
I'm dying here.
My anger is getting the best of me.
Fury raging, but I'll sail on to calmer seas.
Can't get a grip.
End of the road.
I want no part of this.
Bend in the rope.
Trying to cope.
Finding routine in suffering.
Bend in the rope.
Trying to cope.