Into the Asphalt
By Neurosine
The cataclysmic consequences, Soul's in need of a rest, Shed of all precepts, A receipt of death. The world has no conscience, nothing is pure, So slam your head into the asphalt, So slam your head into the asphalt, So slam your head into the asphalt. Then you’ll be for sure, Nothing matters anymore. Making worse decisions, Always in derision, Dreaming with no vision, Fall into the asphalt; There’s no fucking reasons, And certainly no simple cure. Might as well smile, become friends with it, everything will always, remain inexplicable, the more you try to wrap your head around it, you paint the world unsure. Or, hey, take the alternate route, slamming your head, 'till you forget worrying dread, because your head's just too sore. Written December 3rd, 2001 © on Dec 03 2001 12:49 AM PST, Neurosine 0 • 1
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"The cataclysmic consequences,..."