Verhaal te vertellen

You have got a hush-hush kind of story to tell.

And it is boring stupidity dead-on down to the stronghold of my rickety mind.

There's a fragrance of a w***e and it is making me foolish.

A temperate gent christened in her sleepless nights.

I am drowning in cries, not knowing why you’re gone.

The bottle I can grip, but it is the gore I cannot fight.

 

We indulged in consumption, celebrating a little too abundantly.

And now our livers pay and rot.

 

I looked at you and said that I'm forever yours.

You observed me and said, “Oh the idea of breathing in love, that single idea of being repeatedly yours.”

 

The air stream of life, from far overhead, it smells of decease.

Seraphim carol of the conclusion.

There's naught you give or take and nil you try to change.

Human race prepares to die, lie down and roll over for the idea of love.

 

Slit my wrists, yield the discomfort, and the pain that might come if I love.

 

Slit my throat, there are none to plead guilty to this heinous crime.

Lost on the turf of misconception, restless at nighttime, they scream.

Search the fields and the air stream of life for love.

 

They f*****g scream, and scream some more, cuz they find none.

 

The bottle I can grip, but the failure in finding love I cannot.

That idea, that idea, of being yours is turned to dust.