oh, poor little falling star!
burning too bright has become your downfall
look at you now, all you are is a scar
right below your mother's broken heart.
you're standing in the ashes
past wins and big successes;
future fails and broken glasses.
you swallow pain and throw up anger
you keep saying it's for the better:
the bladeless, broken, lost sharpeners
and the blood that spills all over.
you can't shake this deep blue feeling
your inner child is barely breathing;
the future's cold hands are strongly squeezing
her throat, and she is weakly screaming.
you may have escaped physically
but you still dream of that place vividly
and you wake up in cold sweat, tiredly
and try to trick yourself to fall asleep again, uselessly.
the phone rings, it's 3 A.M.
you don't pick up at first, you think it's a scam
but the alprazolam you took moves your hand
and the other line whispers: "do you remember who I am?"
dropping the phone from your hand
you can't believe what you heard
when you heard your own voice whisper (...)
she says: "oh, poor little falling star!
burning too bright has become your downfall
look at you now, all you are is a scar
right below your mother's broken heart."