Our words ain’t shit, so the whispers we hope don’t melt into the seams of the wind won’t mean shit either
So don’t lets get lost in a tasteless sauce with our tasteless words being danced around buried bodies,
We lay on wooden beds and beneath soil of letters that gather together to formulate words to build sentences that echo stories.
But our meaningless novels are just loopholes to discover an end to the nothingness that we are – we tell these stories…
…In hopes of what?
Having people lend us an ear to listen to sweet lies, yet we hide behind those words
Because we allude to a conclusion that’s trivial.
Still these words leave us naked and walking around like zombies in the Walking Dead
But we shouldn’t mind, at least we’ve got lines, just some that no one understands