Testo di '813 Maryland St.' di Hotel Books

She put bullet through a bible and thought it would empower her
But she felt nothing and that’s all she needed, to finally feel nothing
She stopped by my house the next morning and said
I’m sorry but I still don’t feel like this life is worth living, you did all you can you do
I looked at her with tears in my eyes and said
Darling, I’m sorry, but I’m glad I’m not you
She said: At least I know this is all temporary
But the carpet grains will still hold stains, even when you die
You won’t have to face them but they will remain
She said she had enough baggage to rattle the cage of rage
Worthless page after page to rearrange the strange game of pain
Seeping further into a strain of remains
Tags with names, she felt like the lone survivor of a civil war
Of inner peace versus inner desire, hoping somehow to change
The casualties were her hope and her sanity
A damaging calamity of fragile ideals being washed away
When waging war against a staging of poor ideologies that lead to death
But at least she felt something and at least it all meant something
There’s no way to see beauty when its just the blind leading the blind
There’s no way to see beauty when its just losing love to justify your stupid lies
She said, “I watched my house catch fire and I didn’t feel a thing
Well darling, congratulations, I wish I had that sort of inner peace
I’m digging into catacombs built beneath this frame I call a body
And expectations diminish as I uncovered there’s nothing underneath hiding
She had taken what I once needed to feel like I could be something
And I spent so long being bitter but now I’m finally celebrating
Thanking God for those brief moments where my eyes met hers
And she was caught in a life that felt like one rapid blur
The spur of the moment cure for her boredom and my lack of adventure
We were caught somewhere between a pack of menthols she kept on the nightstand
Where she would sleep and a broken down truck that used to drive her to her dreams
But now sat as an eye sore metaphor for the home we created to nourish our weaknesses
The brittle middle ground sounding this rebound argument with God that we call living
It was nothing not even trying to win any sort of race, I just wanted to finish
Or at least sort of place but as I kept running I diminished the existence
I created out of love so I can breath easier
When I tried to fall asleep in this ocean pushing me side to side on her broken dreams
She said: It’s easier to fall asleep just knowing that
When I have something to say somebody’s listening to me
She said: I don’t care if I have a plan
I don’t care if I understand all I need to know is that I have some sort of calling
I just need to know that somebody is listening