You say you are in pain.
I say I'm in pain.
What a waist of our time. No pain, no time, no reaction, pure stupidity.
Blowing our minds over the space, the chest is nothing more that a piece of particle.
The fuck with your life, mine and hers.
None cares about the ant that attacks itself.
None cares about the song that finishes before time.
It's just the continuing score that we follow and after seven or twenty days, the story continues being the same, with the rhythm attacking your veins like a wonderful drug.
And he, me, she, all say to you, get over him. Because, Le'fuck I got over you way before he got over you, now let me start this song over again. Like the goddamn mantra we are used to follow.
The repetition of shots over your mind, mine and hers.
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