100,000 sad songs stuck in my head
Two clenching fist punching holes in my bed
Never seen a black cloud move indoors
It brought down a cold rain that flooded my floors
100,000 sad songs flooding my mind
Two calloused hands grasping gaps in time
I’m losing satisfaction of being your whore
When it’s time to turn to dust I wanna know who to trust
I’m getting beat up by minute hands withered and sore
When it’s time to turn to dust I wanna know who to trust
The candles are lit, the table is set
The lights are dimmed, impatient I sit
To share a mean with lady death and get a few things off my chest
One night alone with lady death to finally get some rest
I ask a question to the bride
Her black cat at her side: What’s going to happen to me when I die?
What am I going to find?
She replies, “The only peace lies in the grave
Without a chance to reflect
We were never meant to be saved
We were meant to infect”
