lyrics

You only get one go at it... might as well Rock it.

Let me set it straight, I've done some shit,And maybe I ain't too proud of itThe monster in your bedYou were begging me "please don't stop!"Said that I'm a douchebag, won't call backThe worst hangover you ever hadFelt so good at first, you knew that it could never lastWanna wash the dirt off my hands, wanna get this all off my chestBut I'm no good at saying sorry... woah oh!I didn't mean to fuck you over,I just want to have some fun

Too much of anything can make you sick,even the good can be a curse - Cheryl Cole

And nothing's wrong when nothing's trueBut I live in a hologram with you.

One difference between poetry and lyrics is that lyrics sort of fade into the background. They fade on the page and live on the stage when set to music.

Every night I used to pray that I__ find my people, and finally I did on the open road.We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desired anymore, except to make our lives into a work of art.

Anger's like a battery that leaks acid right out of meAnd it starts from the heart 'til it reaches my outer me

Let's swim to the moonLet's climb through the tideSurrender to the waiting worldsThat lap against our side.

A poet should be so crafty with words that he is envied even for his pains.

Whoa, you got my head in the cloudsWhoa, you got me thinking out loudThe more you dream about me the more I believeThat nothing's ever out of reachSo dream, dream, dream

I know one thing for sho Heaven__ gotta have a ghettoCuz where else in death do I get to go?

Well, the way you'd been, old ladyI could see the fear in your windowsUnder your furry crawling browA silver bow rings up in inchesYou were afraid you'd be the devil's red wifeBut it's alright, God dug your danceAnd would have you young and in his harum

Tell me all of the things that make you feel at ease

The more I live, the more I learn. The more I learn, the more I realize, the less I know.

Our heavenly Father is great in mercy,He feeds and clothes us everyday, We will worship and humbly learn from himFor our Lord clothes the grass of the field.

By(e) pen, I've tried my hand at poetry; only to see how boring it is to me. That is, unless I get a chance to destroy each and every piece while doing it as I please.

I was always an unusual girl.My mother told me I had a chameleon soul, no moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean.

Who are you?Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies?Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?I have. I am fucking crazy.But I am free.