|
|
#1
07-15-2005, 09:40 AM
|
|||
|
|||
Greatest song lyrics ever
I cross my heart and hope to die
Stick every needle in these eyes Inject this air into my veins If it would bring you back to me I haven't had a sober night Ever since you left me And my days don't start until the sun goes down A vampire Draining every bottle And all I have to quench these memories These memories of you It's all that I can do I cross my heart and hope to die Stick every needle in these eyes Inject this air into my veins If it would bring you back to me I'd rip my heart out of my chest And make your room a crimson mess I'd do it all with no regrets If it would bring you back to me These nights played on my carousel Never ending circles I'll do anything to never think again It's all that I can do I cross my heart and hope to die Stick every needle in these eyes Inject this air into my veins If it would bring you back to me I'd rip my heart out of my chest And make your room a crimson mess I'd do it all with no regrets If it would bring you back to me (If it would bring you back to me) [x2] I cross my heart and hope to die Stick every needle in these eyes Inject this air into my veins If it would bring you back to me I'd rip my heart out of my chest And make your room a crimson mess I'd do it all with no regrets If it would bring you back to me 
|
|
#2
07-15-2005, 09:41 AM
|
|||
|
|||
|
Re: Greatest song lyrics ever
The correct answer is Thunder Road.
|
|
#8
07-15-2005, 04:12 PM
|
|||
|
|||
|
Re: Greatest song lyrics ever
Auschwitz, the meaning of pain
The why that I want you to die Slow death, immense decay Showers that cleanse you of your life Forced in Like cattle You run Stripped of Your life's worth Human mice, for the Angel of Death Four hundred thousand more to die Angel of Death Monarch to the kingdom of the dead Sadistic, surgeon of demise Sadist of the noblest blood Destroying, without mercy To benefit the Aryan race Surgery, with no anesthesia Fell the knife pierce you intensely Inferior, no use to mankind Strapped down screaming out to die Angel of Death Monarch to the kingdom of the dead Infamous butcher, Angel of Death Pumped with fluid, inside your brain Pressure in your skull begins pushing through your eyes Burning flesh, drips away Test of heat burns your skin, your mind starts to boil Frigid cold, cracks your limbs How long can you last In this frozen water burial? Sewn together, joining heads Just a matter of time 'Til you rip yourselves apart Millions laid out in their Crowded tombs Sickening ways to achieve The holocaust Seas of blood, bury life Smell your death as it burns Deep inside of you Abacinate, eyes that bleed Praying for the end of Your wide awake nightmare Wings of pain, reach out for you His face of death staring down, Your blood running cold Injecting cells, dying eyes Feeding on the screams of The mutants he's creating Pathetic harmless victims Left to die Rancid Angel of Death Flying free Angel of Death Monarch to the kingdom of the dead Infamous butcher, Angel of Death
|
|
#9
07-15-2005, 04:30 PM
|
|||
|
|||
|
Re: Greatest song lyrics ever
wrong
|
|
#10
07-15-2005, 04:35 PM
|
|||
|
|||
|
Re: Greatest song lyrics ever
Waste of Paint
"Waste Of Paint" I have a friend, he is made mostly of pain. He wakes up, drives to work, and then straight back home again. He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper. I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover. And I tried to tell him he had a sense of color and composition so magnificent. And he said "Thank you, please but your flattery is truly not becoming me. Your eyes are poor. You are blind. You see, no beauty could have come from me. I am a waste of breath, of space, of time." I knew a woman, she was dignified and true. Her love for her man was one of her many virtues. Until one day, she found out that he had lied and decided the rest of her life, from that point on would be a lie. But she was grateful for everything that had happened. And she was anxious for all that would come next. But then she wept. What did you expect? In that big, old house with all those cars she kept. "Oh!" and "such is life," she often said. With one day leading her to the next, you get a little closer to your death, which was fine with her. She never got upset and with all the days she may have left, she would never clean another mess or fold his shirts or look her best. She was free to waste away alone. Last night, my brother he got drunk and drove. And this cop pulled him off to the side of the road. And he said, "Officer! Officer! You have got the wrong man. No, no, I'm a student of medicine, the son of a banker, you don't understand!" The cop said, "No one got hurt, you should be thankful. And you carelessness, it is something awful. And no, I can't just let you go. And though your father's name is known, your decisions are yours alone. You are nothing but a stepping stone on a path to debt, to loss, to shame." The last few months I have been living with this couple. Yeah, you know, the kind that buy everything in doubles. They fit together, like a puzzle. I love their love and I am thankful that someone actually receives the prize that was promised by all those fairy tales that drugged us. And they still do me. I'm sick, lonely, no laurel tree, just green envy. Will my number come up eventually? Like Love is some kind of lottery, where you can scratch and see what is underneath. It's "Sorry", just one cherry, "Play Again." Get lucky. So I have been hanging out down by the train's depot. No, I don't ride. I just sit and watch the people there. They remind me of wind up cars in motion. The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions. And I want to scream out that it is all nonsense. And that their lives are one track, and can't they see how it is all pointless? But then, my knees give under me. My head feels weak and suddenly it is clear to see that it is not them but me, who has lost my self-identity. As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry, like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology that no one can hope to achieve. And I am never real; it is just a sketch of me. And everything I have is trite and cheap and a waste of paint, of tape, of time. Sometimes I park my car down my the cathedral, where floodlights point up at the steeples. Choir practice is filling up with people. I hear the sound escaping as an echo. Sloping off the ceiling at an angle. When voices blend they sound like angels. I hope there is still some room left in the middle. But when I lift my voice up now to reach them. The range is too high, way up in heaven. So I hold my tongue, forget the song, tie my shoe and start walking off. And try to just keep moving on, with my broken heart and my absent God and I have no faith but it is all I want, to be loved and believe in my soul, in my soul...
|
 |
|
|
Linear Mode
