the sting of pain,
the smell of fear,
the sound of crying
I'm trying to earn a set of feathery wings to take me away from here"
I sing this song like it was written for me. And then, I tell myself I wanna go to some kinda med school. Problems, yeah. Atypical problems, yes, but problems nonetheless.
"I'd become a disillusioned misery-type fuck-the-world alcoholic, if I could just figure out which type is best drunk from a ratty paper bag."