[on.fire]: 156.Last ride

Last ride

Burnt my house into ashes.
Allaroud i’ver recived scratches.
They made me like poor wratches.

Playing all the time.
Every word has to be a rime.
This drawns me deep into crime.
And pretending it’s all fucked-up-fine.

I can’t stop hot-cold shivering.
Scared from her shining delivering.
Searching on the bottles ground for losts everything.

All becomes red like wine.
And melacholycity depressing mine.
Just looking for the unholy’s shine.
Crying makes loosers fly.

While getting older.
I become colder.
Everything is a bother.

Words may hurt deep.
Silence tears more into peaces cheap.
Someday it makes me an emotionall creep.
I start feeling small and weak.

Into this i like to slide.
Hopefully there’s a last pride.
While making the last ride.