all that's gold

does not all shine.

one more fix could kill you....
9 December
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So Strange I Remember You in protest of a prayer, and falling back from seas we fear to sail I swear I saw the shooter, gold teeth and a double dare, post modern warnings seem inclined to fail. Feigning an apology, those words they never left your lips, those 5 years in Bermuda slide by like the lights of passing ships, So Strange that I Remember You, knee deep in Nietzsche's lies. My mouth was an open grave I drank your stained glass eyes and they taste like dead cathedrals that are crumbling beneath a weight ten thousand jaded tourists who've traded in their hearts and hands for disposable cameras, set to document to decay set to capture just enough of life to catalogue the things we throw away breathing the fumes of our machines we've lost our way breathing through television dreams if we could only see us now, if we could only see us now. the words of the dead ring in our ears but its only a lie. the voice in your head brings you to tears but you don't know why. the words of the dead ring in our ears but its only a lie. the voice in your head brings you to tears but its only a lie, yes its only a lie...isn't it?

Don't even take a breath. The air is cut with cyanide, in honor of the New Year
The press gives us cause to celebrate. These air raid sirens flood barbed wire skylines By artificial night. As we sleep to burn the red, from our bloodless lives. Tonight we're all time bombs on fault lines. Have we lost everything now? We're walking like each other's ghosts around these silent streets. The sedatives tell you everything is alright. Like calendars dying at New Year's Eve partiesas we kiss hard on the lips and swear this year will be better then the last. Jet Black - the ink that spells your name Jet Black - The blood that's in your veins We say, "How long can we take this chance not to celebrate?" There's music playing But we dance to the beat of our own black hearts. And draw diagrams of suicide on each other's wrists then trace them with razorblades. Fire to flames "Strike Match." Burn these words from our lips. As 'The Daggar' screams "Love is dead" and it's a "newspaper tragedy," Have we lost what we love? Have we said everything? Does it change anything? Stare at the clock Avoid at all costs, This emptiness.
Ten seconds left until midnight.
Nine chances to drown our-selves in black hair dye.
Eight faces turned away from the shock.
Seven windows and
Six of them were locked.
Five stories falling
Forever and ever.
Three cheers to the mirror. Now there are
Two of us. Can we have
One last dance?
How long can we take this chance not to celebrate life?
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