Explosions are pretty
After I was laid down to sleep I prayed to my father
That you could burn with me
We'd bid a farewell to our flesh and sunshine's and moonbeam and things like that
Goodbye to roses and dreamers and hell-o to torture
But you refused my invite
And the tickets have already been paid for
What's the point of stopping to smell the roses the roses are dead
To forever be in sunshine would be purgatory for me
I need to bathe in the crud so as the prospect of the shower
That your essence cleans me with can be more almost deserving as if I endured the torture for the prize.
Of course I should have chosen door number one
Now I'm alone
To bare it
Alone
I need this bad I guess more than any other
My dreams are a constant that never waiver's.
For a being that wants, everything means nothing, and something unknown to that being is the only thing that will satisfy
When my father comes for me
I will forfeit my soul to you
