Untitled [The Cure]
"You never quite knew how to make them believable"
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Hey friend,
Don't worry. Don't fret. If there was anyone that I'd like to prove me wrong, I'd like it to be me. And you'd be the perfect rebuttal.
Friend, your shell so secured, enveloped you unreachable for the reachers. Compact and untouched, not quite intact. And all the familiar things leaving with out a good bye. Since when was good bye, good? The idiot with the oxymoron, probably regretting ever saying such a phrase.
Who's brave to even attempt the metal detector? Friend, why do you have a metal detector? The blame, who to blame. Adam and Eve, weren't they the first? And the blame's been passing on since then. The last person...being...organism...spec...in this universe is the last to blame. Hot potato was meant for the next person, the other person, no no not you, not me. I'd burn my hands, and why would any of us would want to burn our precious hands? Mine are clean spotless, redless, I always convince me, are yours?
Don't worry, don't fret. This all is all our responsibilities. It's change, isn't it? Absolution isn't the solution, anyway. No worries, no worries. If your feet were cemented on the ground, the happily you wanted it, the pavement would be yours, along with everything you wanted. But is that all you wanted? Even everything isn't enough to cover it all. There's always something else...
I won't conceal this with a promise, because even words aren't mine. I won't grovel and scream, because I'm right here. But just some words for the long run, there are no other contours like yours. So it's right here where you've left it.
Listen to me, don't worry, don't fret.
Don't worry. Don't fret. If there was anyone that I'd like to prove me wrong, I'd like it to be me. And you'd be the perfect rebuttal.
Friend, your shell so secured, enveloped you unreachable for the reachers. Compact and untouched, not quite intact. And all the familiar things leaving with out a good bye. Since when was good bye, good? The idiot with the oxymoron, probably regretting ever saying such a phrase.
Who's brave to even attempt the metal detector? Friend, why do you have a metal detector? The blame, who to blame. Adam and Eve, weren't they the first? And the blame's been passing on since then. The last person...being...organism...spec...in this universe is the last to blame. Hot potato was meant for the next person, the other person, no no not you, not me. I'd burn my hands, and why would any of us would want to burn our precious hands? Mine are clean spotless, redless, I always convince me, are yours?
Don't worry, don't fret. This all is all our responsibilities. It's change, isn't it? Absolution isn't the solution, anyway. No worries, no worries. If your feet were cemented on the ground, the happily you wanted it, the pavement would be yours, along with everything you wanted. But is that all you wanted? Even everything isn't enough to cover it all. There's always something else...
I won't conceal this with a promise, because even words aren't mine. I won't grovel and scream, because I'm right here. But just some words for the long run, there are no other contours like yours. So it's right here where you've left it.
Listen to me, don't worry, don't fret.
_
