the gathering
eléanor
Underneath the mask you've buried yourself into It's coal-black I am tired of the gulping that you do Every day a new face What if I unscrew Your own identity Wouldn't you guess there's nothing left of you? The quicksand of life drags us Down into the circle One day we might not catch you I feel sorry for what you try to do Breaking others down to try and to pursue Your own selfish interests I am starting to get sick of you Whatever happened ever since you left You make yourself and me look like fools