This is death by slow suicide
Trying to shove all the ugliness
Under the rug, behind the shelf
By the time the gun is loaded,
I will probably forget to shoot myself

This is life on temporary survival
Trying to keep things beautiful, but we’re unable
Above the chandelier, below a crystal vase
By the time she figures out the secret to happiness,
The house will have shifted away from its base

I don’t want the champagne you sip
I don’t want the heartache or the pain
I just want to be free

Can this be the way we go
Down into a hole into the unknown?
Or can we save ourselves
From the pain we choose to consume
Before nothing is left?

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