Vanity__Dearest
07/12/05, 04:48 PM
passion like a plague (empenada)
the ( writing )...is the surname of the song we use when we play...i'd like to see what people get out of this..then i'll post what i feel i wrote it on.
Darling, pack your wears.
There’s a storm brewing, and we need to pack out of this battleground.
a handful of cyanide, our roses to plant,
We brace for attack.
Drink the cold harsh water out of the only hose in town.
Around these parts, they carry coffins and their concepts.
A brighter future is torn apart by daybreak.
I’ve sighed one too many times
“they won’t touch you. It’s urgent…they won’t touch you, it’s reckless”
Her lips like vendetta antennas
They beg me to kiss her metal mutiny.
And there’s this little sexual kitten. She dances her way on the train tracks. She begs for limbs to feel the forceful love.
We had our wishes in this godforsaken town.
on these god forsaken lungs, we have snake cut tongues.
And the linen found it’s way to the clothesline.
To clean the only part we could find ourselves clean in.
This start of flesh, hasn’t fleshed itself out.
I’ve sighed one too many times for you to take this seriously
“they won’t touch you. It’s urgent…they won’t touch you, it’s reckless”
The lips like vendetta antennas
They beg me to kiss her metal mutiny.
We’ve lost our faith in this revival.
The guys look at the prey just to tear it apart.
These cold hard stares, with soiled hearts.
And blood as thick as cloudy throats.
the ( writing )...is the surname of the song we use when we play...i'd like to see what people get out of this..then i'll post what i feel i wrote it on.
Darling, pack your wears.
There’s a storm brewing, and we need to pack out of this battleground.
a handful of cyanide, our roses to plant,
We brace for attack.
Drink the cold harsh water out of the only hose in town.
Around these parts, they carry coffins and their concepts.
A brighter future is torn apart by daybreak.
I’ve sighed one too many times
“they won’t touch you. It’s urgent…they won’t touch you, it’s reckless”
Her lips like vendetta antennas
They beg me to kiss her metal mutiny.
And there’s this little sexual kitten. She dances her way on the train tracks. She begs for limbs to feel the forceful love.
We had our wishes in this godforsaken town.
on these god forsaken lungs, we have snake cut tongues.
And the linen found it’s way to the clothesline.
To clean the only part we could find ourselves clean in.
This start of flesh, hasn’t fleshed itself out.
I’ve sighed one too many times for you to take this seriously
“they won’t touch you. It’s urgent…they won’t touch you, it’s reckless”
The lips like vendetta antennas
They beg me to kiss her metal mutiny.
We’ve lost our faith in this revival.
The guys look at the prey just to tear it apart.
These cold hard stares, with soiled hearts.
And blood as thick as cloudy throats.