change every route
strip me of a way out
it's got me
that thing that eats you up inside
when you know you have lied,
killed,
mis-thrilled,
and taken things out of proportion.
guilt is smeared across our faces in the places we lay.
we'd stay but their are no floors beneath us.
their are no forces to keep us.
why die,
when you've got nothing in you that stops you breathing?