I never asked to be here,
You know, I had no choice in it,
If I could leave, then trust me dear,
I’d be on a broken ship,
Sailing fast and sailing far,
Upon a boat made of bone,
Sinking deeper with each yard,
Until I find myself at home.
Home is where the heart is,
Or at least that’s what some might say,
What a bunch of lunatics,
No ones’ heart feels the same.
I lost my home when I left there,
I’ve no regrets; no I don’t care,
I’m not welcome anywhere,
I’m broken; I’m beyond repair.
Repairing something that is broke,
Slit my wrists, save my life,
Let me leave this hell called home,
End it all with this knife.
I’ve had it since the day I was born,
Its purpose now must be fulfilled,
I’ve been holding on for so long,
It makes sense if I am killed.
Killed to stop all of the pain,
To rescue my soul, which isn’t safe,
To bring you all a happy place,
To wipe the smile from off my face.
It was never really there,
So slice it off it’s only fair,
Take back whatever I don’t share,
Break me up beyond repair.
Repairing a bed of nails,
Slash my escape ship’s sails,
Follow all the shining trails,
Of blood and tears, through rain prevail,
Nothing cleanses me of pain,
No amount of drugs can keep me sane,
So stop predicting what I say,
Or I’ll slam an axe through your brain.
