I'm carrying a heavy bucket
back from the well.
Trembling hands and losing water,
losing my will.
When we got home, nothing was left
but knots in the lease.
Now I'm heading west or someplace
far from the East.
Cortisol and Serotonin,
stable's a thrill.
Anhedonia at the surface.
Here, I'm in hell.
I'm carrying this empty bucket,
I wanna empty myself.
Because, everything is getting rid of
everything else.
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Pacing
parking lots,
ignored.
We are
the same,
but opposed.
Something
else is
supposed to happen.
You aren't having
((It felt easy before I left))
a good time
((left in dust to carry myself-))
anymore.
((It felt easy before I left))
((left in dust to carry myself-))
I really did dig my own hole ((and I'm climbing out.))
Photos
I really did dig my own hole ((but I can see the top.))
I'm climbing out.
I really did dig my own hole.
I'm climbing out.
I'm climbing out.
You can smell life here,
what we call life above the ground.
Hands stained dirty,
but there is water to wash them out.
Being this age always seemed so far away.
How is life here,
can we bring our trash outside the house?
You can smell life here,
what we call life above the ground.
Hands stained dirty,
but there is water to wash them out.
Being this age always seemed so far away.
How is life here,
((What we call life above the ground))
can we bring our trash outside the house?
You can smell life here,
((left in dust.))
what we call life above the ground.
Hands stained dirty,
((what we call life above the ground))
but there is water to wash them out.
Being this age always seemed so far away.
((Left in dust)) to carry myself out.
Artist: Christmas Song
Artist: Tiziano Ferro
Artist: Block B