Come on and rescue me. From all this misery. I know what I want. But I can't hold my own. . I found the perfect friend. Who's got his perfect life. Now I can move ahead.
All this waiting comes back to me. And I know it seems so hard to believe. I gave all my reasons. Gave all my pain. Excuses evolve into shame. I'll take it day by day.
If I was to walk till time saw no end.. If I was to climb till the air was too thin.. I could not find a picture fit the frame.. As perfect as you.. As perfect as you..
See her move, with the slight of a dress, I am fixed on you. Let me in, I need more than a taste 'cause a glimpse won't do. So I watch, feel my eyes caress every movement.
Is anybody listening? Our ears deceive. How easily do we believe the hype machine. The label means everything, it's all for show. I wanna hear the awful screams.
The end of the line where zero's the sign. A hole in the mind, deaf, dumb and blind. Nothing to cry not even an eye. Zero again the end of no end. . A vacant space lacks a familiar face.
What's that festering Grotesque. Over there in a. Wheelchair, Wheelchair. Stifled in a Straitjacket. Self inflicted Safety pin Wounds, wounds, wounds.
Howard Phillips Lovecraft, Heaven knows, had a talent for writing which was of no mean proportion; only what he did with this talent was a shame and a caution and an eldritch horror. if he had only gotten the Hell down out of his auntie's attic and obtained a job with the Federal Writers Project of the WPA, he could have turned out guidebooks that would be classics and joys to read, forever. Only he stayed up there, muffled up to the tip of his long, gaunt New England chin against the cold which lay more in his heart than in his thermometer, living on 19 cents worth of beans a day, rewriting (for pennies) the crappy MSS of writers whose complete illiteracy would have been a boon to all mankind - ah, but life is a boon; and producing ghastly, grisly, ghoulish and horrifying works of his own as well - of man-eating Things which foraged in graveyards, of human/beastie crosses which grew beastlier and beastlier as they grew older, of gibbering shoggoths, and Elder Beings which smelt real bad and were always trying to break through Thresholds and Take Over - rugose, squamous, amorphous nasties, abetted by thin, gaunt New England eccentrics who dwelt in attics and who eventually Never Seen Or Heard From Again. Serve them damn well right, I say..
Tower of strength takes to the sea. Scours ocean via quay. Same old story muscle bound and gorey. Brand new story death without glory. Infinite story so new, so hoary.