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Description
Am I a virus?
Or am I stil my own cure?
Around the specimen, my patience is allured.
I’m slapped.
With occasional xylocaine.
Hendrix only helps ease the pain.
Shattered more than glass.
But as soft as soil full of the seeds of doubt.
Are they creating their own cure or just waiting for me to die out?

Quarantined from their sanity.
I’m speaking to stone walls.
None of them can bend down,
To save me from a fall.
I’ll sketch a diary,
Of what I couldv’e been
Shunned from the narcotic.
In my eyes, no one can win.

There’s a resonator here.
It won’t leave me alone.
It has one mouth but a thousand voices.
It’s sound is chilling to my bones
I’m thinking so off track.
My internal sparks have left.
My sanity and my shine are victims of theft.
She asked me,
"Will I be the last?’
I told her, "The melancholy of these black days can’t heal the years thrown in the trash."

Quarantined from their sanity.
I’m trapped within stone walls.
They won’t bend down to catch me when I fall.
I’ll sketch a diary.
Of what I should’ve been.
I’n my eyes no one’ll ever win.

Quarantined to my insanity.
I’ll tear down these stone walls.
They’ll never bend down to save me.
Because they don’t have the balls.
I’ll sketch a masterpiece.
Of what I am.
I’ll pass on the narcotic.
Because for now I don’t give a damn.

Description
Am I a virus?
Or am I stil my own cure?
Around the specimen, my patience is allured.
I’m slapped.
With occasional xylocaine.
Hendrix only helps ease the pain.
Shattered more than glass.
But as soft as soil full of the seeds of doubt.
Are they creating their own cure or just waiting for me to die out?

Quarantined from their sanity.
I’m speaking to stone walls.
None of them can bend down,
To save me from a fall.
I’ll sketch a diary,
Of what I couldv’e been
Shunned from the narcotic.
In my eyes, no one can win.

There’s a resonator here.
It won’t leave me alone.
It has one mouth but a thousand voices.
It’s sound is chilling to my bones
I’m thinking so off track.
My internal sparks have left.
My sanity and my shine are victims of theft.
She asked me,
"Will I be the last?’
I told her, "The melancholy of these black days can’t heal the years thrown in the trash."

Quarantined from their sanity.
I’m trapped within stone walls.
They won’t bend down to catch me when I fall.
I’ll sketch a diary.
Of what I should’ve been.
I’n my eyes no one’ll ever win.

Quarantined to my insanity.
I’ll tear down these stone walls.
They’ll never bend down to save me.
Because they don’t have the balls.
I’ll sketch a masterpiece.
Of what I am.
I’ll pass on the narcotic.
Because for now I don’t give a damn.