It gives me strength to have somebody to fight for; I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill.
I only sleep with people I love, which is why I have insomnia.
I still own my heart, which I know because it hurts so much.
Perfume was first created to mask the stench of foul and offensive odors...
Spices and and bold flavorings were created to mask the taste of putrid and rotting meat...
What then was musik created for?
Was it to drown out the voices of others, atau the voices within ourselves?
I think I know.
And falling's just another way to fly.
I'm not stupid. I know exactly what's going on, and I'm not fighting it. If I have to go through this, I will glean from it any small benefit I can receive. I will not fight this. Bring it on. Bring on the cure. Bring on the fucking happy. I'm committed.
Awareness is the enemy of sanity, for once anda hear the screaming, it never stops.
I am my heart’s undertaker. Daily I go and retrieve its tattered remains, place them delicately into its little coffin, and bury it in the depths of my memory, only to have to do it all again tomorrow.
Oh, and I certainly don't suffer from schizophrenia. I quite enjoy it. And so do I.
And, what's more, this 'precious' body, the very same that is hooted and honked at, demeaned both in daily life as well as in ever existing form of media, harrassed, molested, raped, and, if all that wasn't enough, is forever poked and prodded and weighed and constantly wrong for eating too much, eating too little, a million details which all point to the solitary girl, to EVERY solitary girl, and say: Destroy yourself.
It is not seen as insane when a fighter, under an attack that will inevitable lead to his death, chooses to take his own life first. In fact, this act has been encouraged for centuries, and is accepted even now as an honorable reason to do the deed. How is it any different when anda are under attack oleh your own mind?
I can explain myself: If anda want to be safe, walk in the middle of the street. I’m not joking. You’ve been told to look both ways before crossing the street, and the sidewalk is your friend, right? Wrong. I’ve spent years walking sidewalks at night. I’ve looked around me when it was dark, when there were men following me, creeping out of alleyways, attempting to goad me into speaking to them and shouting obscenities at me when I wouldn’t, and I suddenly realised that the only place left to go was the middle of street. But why would I risk it? Because the odds are in my favour. In the States, someone is killed in a car accident on average every 12.5 minutes, while someone is raped on average every 2.5 minutes. Even when factoring in that, one, I am generously including ALL car-related accidents and not just those involving accidents, and two, that the vast majorities of rapes still go unreported […] And, thus, this is now the way I live my life: out in the open, in the middle of everything, because the middle of the jalan, street is actually the safest place to walk
If leeches ate peaches instead of my blood, then I would be free to drink teh in the mud!
Women who focus on style over substance usually find themselves in a big fucking hole, with other men who want to fuck the hole. Oh so smooth, and none sophistacted. Because, anda know, how sophisticated can hole-fucking really be
I smile to myself knowing that they may be dead.
History written in pencil is easily erased, but crayon is forever.
If that happens again someone's gonna get shot.... with an panah of love!
I feel as though, if I were to extend my hand just a little toward the pool where the ideas ferment, I could grab at the idea and pull it out of the pool and onto the floor where ideas must stand before the jury of the brain. There, it must present itself, still from the pool, and a bit shivery because new ideas are not diberikan a towel to dry off with, towels being reserved for proven theories; new ideas are simply pulled and stood up, and asked to explain themselves - not a very pleasant thing really, which is why so many people go into the room where the pool is. The exercise is exhausting not to mention a bit difficult to watch, if anda are at all a sympathetic creature. What was my idea, anyways?
Hey, look at me! Look at me! Look at me! And...look at me. Will he think I'm sexy enough? Will he find me wholesome enough? Am I fuckable? Is he allergic to feathers?!
EA: Is it the smoke that smells like vanilla?
Audience: Yeah.
EA: Yeah, they do that to mask the chemicals that are actually killing you.
Shakespeare; the only man I'd ever love...
Simply put, if anda are a Wayward Victorian Girl, I'll find you.
We had people fainting during the last tour, but I'm aiming for people to actually drop dead at this one.
I only sleep with people I love, which is why I have insomnia.
I still own my heart, which I know because it hurts so much.
Perfume was first created to mask the stench of foul and offensive odors...
Spices and and bold flavorings were created to mask the taste of putrid and rotting meat...
What then was musik created for?
Was it to drown out the voices of others, atau the voices within ourselves?
I think I know.
And falling's just another way to fly.
I'm not stupid. I know exactly what's going on, and I'm not fighting it. If I have to go through this, I will glean from it any small benefit I can receive. I will not fight this. Bring it on. Bring on the cure. Bring on the fucking happy. I'm committed.
Awareness is the enemy of sanity, for once anda hear the screaming, it never stops.
I am my heart’s undertaker. Daily I go and retrieve its tattered remains, place them delicately into its little coffin, and bury it in the depths of my memory, only to have to do it all again tomorrow.
Oh, and I certainly don't suffer from schizophrenia. I quite enjoy it. And so do I.
And, what's more, this 'precious' body, the very same that is hooted and honked at, demeaned both in daily life as well as in ever existing form of media, harrassed, molested, raped, and, if all that wasn't enough, is forever poked and prodded and weighed and constantly wrong for eating too much, eating too little, a million details which all point to the solitary girl, to EVERY solitary girl, and say: Destroy yourself.
It is not seen as insane when a fighter, under an attack that will inevitable lead to his death, chooses to take his own life first. In fact, this act has been encouraged for centuries, and is accepted even now as an honorable reason to do the deed. How is it any different when anda are under attack oleh your own mind?
I can explain myself: If anda want to be safe, walk in the middle of the street. I’m not joking. You’ve been told to look both ways before crossing the street, and the sidewalk is your friend, right? Wrong. I’ve spent years walking sidewalks at night. I’ve looked around me when it was dark, when there were men following me, creeping out of alleyways, attempting to goad me into speaking to them and shouting obscenities at me when I wouldn’t, and I suddenly realised that the only place left to go was the middle of street. But why would I risk it? Because the odds are in my favour. In the States, someone is killed in a car accident on average every 12.5 minutes, while someone is raped on average every 2.5 minutes. Even when factoring in that, one, I am generously including ALL car-related accidents and not just those involving accidents, and two, that the vast majorities of rapes still go unreported […] And, thus, this is now the way I live my life: out in the open, in the middle of everything, because the middle of the jalan, street is actually the safest place to walk
If leeches ate peaches instead of my blood, then I would be free to drink teh in the mud!
Women who focus on style over substance usually find themselves in a big fucking hole, with other men who want to fuck the hole. Oh so smooth, and none sophistacted. Because, anda know, how sophisticated can hole-fucking really be
I smile to myself knowing that they may be dead.
History written in pencil is easily erased, but crayon is forever.
If that happens again someone's gonna get shot.... with an panah of love!
I feel as though, if I were to extend my hand just a little toward the pool where the ideas ferment, I could grab at the idea and pull it out of the pool and onto the floor where ideas must stand before the jury of the brain. There, it must present itself, still from the pool, and a bit shivery because new ideas are not diberikan a towel to dry off with, towels being reserved for proven theories; new ideas are simply pulled and stood up, and asked to explain themselves - not a very pleasant thing really, which is why so many people go into the room where the pool is. The exercise is exhausting not to mention a bit difficult to watch, if anda are at all a sympathetic creature. What was my idea, anyways?
Hey, look at me! Look at me! Look at me! And...look at me. Will he think I'm sexy enough? Will he find me wholesome enough? Am I fuckable? Is he allergic to feathers?!
EA: Is it the smoke that smells like vanilla?
Audience: Yeah.
EA: Yeah, they do that to mask the chemicals that are actually killing you.
Shakespeare; the only man I'd ever love...
Simply put, if anda are a Wayward Victorian Girl, I'll find you.
We had people fainting during the last tour, but I'm aiming for people to actually drop dead at this one.
Should anda choose to accept it
Well, I hope that anda do
This is your story
Should anda choose to remember
Well, I hope that it’s true
I’ve finally a reason
To let it die, let it die
You’ve diberikan me a reason
To let it die
Let it die
Like all the words irrelevant and clean
Like all the girls before me, have anda seen
Somebody walking back from Hell on their own
Well, I hope that anda do
Why are we talking
As if anda didn’t know
Well, they know about you
I’ve finally a reason
To let it die, let it die
You’ve diberikan me a reason
To let it die
Let it die
Like all the words irrelevant and strange
Like some ancient Prokofieff arrangement
This is your mission
Should anda choose to accept it
Well, I hope that anda do
This is your army
And they’re all right behind you
Yes, they’re all right with you
Let it die
Let it die
Let it die
Don’t need no crystal ball to tell me so
Whispering in the air
Hoping that my words find anda somewhere
Even when I close my eyes
I’ll never recreate the time that flies
The consequence is hanging there
The sky will fall but I don’t care
Chorus:
Meet me beneath my balcony and say
No one but anda could ever fill my night
Be the sunlight in my every day
Underneath my balcony I’ll say
No one but anda could ever fill my night
Be the sunlight in my every day
Your cinta is haunting me
And all I want is lebih to set me free
Whispering in the air
Hoping that my words find anda somewhere
Do anda hear me call your name
I know we will never be the same
The consequence is hanging there
The sky will fall but I don’t care
Chorus
And if anda can’t give it to me
I will cut anda down
And I will run anda through
With the dagger anda sharpened
On my body and soul
Before anda slit me in two
And then devoured me whole
I want my innocence back
I want my innocence back
I want my innocence back
I want my innocence back
And if anda can’t pacify me
I will break your bones
anda think I’m bluffing, just try me
I will never forget
The words anda used to ensnare me
Till my dying day
You’ll suffer for this, I swear (I swear)
I want my innocence back
I want my innocence back
I want my innocence back
And I demand
anda put my jantung back in my hand
And wipe it clean
From the mess anda made of me
And I require
anda make me free from this desire
And when anda leave, I’d better be the innocent
I used to be
I want my innocence back
I want my innocence back
I want my innocence back
anda think that you’ll get by
anda will die
anda will cry
When anda think that you’ll survive
Just don’t try
Run and hide
My eyes are hollow like my soul
anda think that you’ll get by
anda will die
anda will cry
When anda think that you’ll survive
Just don’t try
Run and hide
My eyes are hollow like my soul
Just as I was walking by
My soul died
My jantung cried
When anda think that you’ll survive
Just don’t try
Run and hide
My eyes are hollow like my soul
So many times I ask myself
So many times I wonder why
So many times I ask myself
So many times I wonder why
anda think that you’ll get by
anda will die
anda will die
When anda think that you’ll survive
Just don’t try
Run and hide
My eyes are hollow like my soul
My eyes are hollow like my soul
Hollow like my soul
anda think that you’ll get by
anda will die
anda will cry
When anda think that you’ll survive
Just don’t try
Run and hide
Run and hide
Run and hide