the door creaks open.
it's an old house. these things happen.
but the stillness has been broken.
i wanna get drunk just to feel bad in the morning
and walk home cold.
it's what i feel i deserve.
who am i to waste these efforts?
we all love a tragedy, but who's got the guts to tell a decent joke?
still frame why do you sit so smug? do you think that you have anything to give?
you're just a proof of a memory of the wild things i never did.