Black Creativity

Why do you think you can get away with that forced creativity? How long do you think it could last? Make the day a drunken day and take the shot to your head. While the blood runs through your hair you'll never forget my hands. Why is this called being alive? Why are we still standing here? Just pick up the phone and dial my number, click. All the flames pour out of you house, I watch you leave in a puff of smoke. Later, much later we'll all wonder why is it that you left. How is the sky falling today? Isn't today the end of days? Will there be a tomorrow? Not for you, not for me, but that is but a choice, click. When you see the shards the blood will flow. Down we go, down we'll flow. The dark tunnel has no end, yet we still see the light. Tonight is no different, just the same old thing. One more trick, one more taste. Every morning we still wake up, wishing we were gone. Left to our own devices we are gone.