It would be your fault
not mine
I’d like to take my misery
And mail it off to Marie .
To pull it all out, and compress it into some beautiful box.
Too temping to leave closed.
So captivated by its shining light
That sitting alone one tranquil night
She might open it up.
And all my pain would rush out to her,
That she would feel what she deserves,
The pain she put into me,
Might finally return.
Might i arose her curiosity.
Marie Marie
I’d sail the seas
If just to bring some fourn disease
So that your unknowing body might meet desease.
Because I have been molded to this brand of pain,
Exposed to this illness again and again.
And now I know that it cannot kill me.
Because im already dead.
And I wish I could send you a box of my dread.
