Here I thought, here I thought you, you, and the rest of you were my friends, why is it when I look into your eyes all I see is fake.
If that's the case then leave me, like she left me for dead, I don't need either of your bullshit.
The trigger to my A.R has no heart, and when I'm behind it I show no love.
The hatred of the pain I've felt fed through the bullets that goes through the chamber and out the barrel.
When the bullet travels, it does so with no remorse.
Of course my every move is a calculated step, you can call it closer to God, simply it's closer to death.
You can call me whatever you please, emo, pathetic, weak, but it's nither I'm just being me!
