I’m floating on the delights of misfortune
What else would you spect from this black heart of mine?
A shell of what I used to be perhaps
But this is just a poetic conspiracy
Rotten words from dried out fields
Empty oceans growing in darkness towards empty skies
I’m I being too dramatic? Perhaps…
Shall I stop this charade?
Who would listen to what I have to say?
Maybe the hollow
Oblivious king of intensity
The clock is ticking
Time is getting wasted
Still, here we are…
I will stop the nonsense now
With a sense of regression, blissful transgression
This was about nothing, nothing at all
Except for A Perfect Circle song getting ripped off here and there…