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| It's three o'clock On Monday, I heard the news On Sunday, I smoked a pack of cigaretts In two hours, I drank a half a bottal of vodka, I feel like a coward. I'm drownding my pain, In a glass of scotch and tears, I'm smokeing away All my pain and my fears. I'm hiding from reality, In the theater of my mind, I'm revisiting our past, Making up a new ending each time. I'm turning into my father, Doing just what he did, And just like him, The same way it might end. I tried it again, I was going to slit my wrists, It was all planed out, I was just so pissed, Or maybe, After mom and dad went to bed, I'd sneak out, And put a gun to my head, And maybe then he'd see, How much he truely ment to me, When he saw me cold and dead, Compleat with the bullet in my head, But then it wouldn't matter anymore, Because I'd be gone, And he'd be with tha stupied whore, It's not worth it, Not for him, I'll get over it, I won't do it again. (C) BRANDI NOEL OCTOBER 2001 To: Louis |
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