T.O.D.-Time Of Death
A poet holds his girl and whispers sweet-nothings in her ear
He takes a step outside to smoke and think about his suicide career
Wisps of smoke and whispers of nothing curl around his head
Ideas and dreams of fantasy worth nothing until he is dead
A poet, a musician, an artist, a lover...
He loves one no more than the other.
Weeds crunch in the crackling sidewalk over and over
Each step he takes forward, he feels he's going nowhere.
He passes a stranger going the opposite direction to the same place
Blinking back tears he glances towards the clouds in disgrace
No matter what he does he's still be stuck beneath an overcast
No tears, no sun, a lot of fear, no fun, life comes at you fast.
He takes his time walking up a long green hill
Little tufts of nature follow him with the wind against their will
A soft smile appears on his sickly face as the wind blows it's good-bye
Almost as if it knows about his plan with the bridge that's so high
His eyes close in deadly sadness and self-hate
Why was he given the talent to create?
A gift and a plague, it haunts him all the same
Nothing's ever good enough and fills him with deep shame.
A sigh and a stop, as he looks down the big drop
His mind searches for reasons so hard it might pop
A deep breath as he checks his cheap watch for the time
He wonders why he does this to himself, it should be a crime
A steady breath and a stare down to doom, he decides now isn't his time to die
Guess he'll just come back again tomorrow for another try.
He takes a step outside to smoke and think about his suicide career
Wisps of smoke and whispers of nothing curl around his head
Ideas and dreams of fantasy worth nothing until he is dead
A poet, a musician, an artist, a lover...
He loves one no more than the other.
Weeds crunch in the crackling sidewalk over and over
Each step he takes forward, he feels he's going nowhere.
He passes a stranger going the opposite direction to the same place
Blinking back tears he glances towards the clouds in disgrace
No matter what he does he's still be stuck beneath an overcast
No tears, no sun, a lot of fear, no fun, life comes at you fast.
He takes his time walking up a long green hill
Little tufts of nature follow him with the wind against their will
A soft smile appears on his sickly face as the wind blows it's good-bye
Almost as if it knows about his plan with the bridge that's so high
His eyes close in deadly sadness and self-hate
Why was he given the talent to create?
A gift and a plague, it haunts him all the same
Nothing's ever good enough and fills him with deep shame.
A sigh and a stop, as he looks down the big drop
His mind searches for reasons so hard it might pop
A deep breath as he checks his cheap watch for the time
He wonders why he does this to himself, it should be a crime
A steady breath and a stare down to doom, he decides now isn't his time to die
Guess he'll just come back again tomorrow for another try.