Dead Celebrity Status - Them (A Prelude) скачать mp3

emember the old me The one that was hesitant and simple Afraid, tolerant and invisible Only notice when I was at the end of a punchline or a punch And punchlines hurt more With a bruised identity and a shattered perception of who I was I confined myself to a carousel A merry go round, that was less merry and more toxic A systematic awkwardness A discomfort in disconnect with salvation A punishment deserved A loneliness inherited because I did not fit in with them I lingered in a constant nightmare Sleepwalking my days away Helplessly, hopelessly, Horrified An inperfection waiting for surgical hands to reach down and Lipo suck my existence From a world that had ridiculed and booby trapped me into an empty shell of worthlessness When will it stop I remember the day I stopped trying to figure out who I was And instead I asked the question "Why do they hate me?" Because hate is conveniently fueled by fear And fear is a much easier emotion than courage So why are they scared of me? Why did I not fit in, with them? Armed with poison tip tongues they released the stockpile of venomous delusions and hatred Freak, weirdo, faggot, loser, misfit, different they howled But you see My lexicon does not succumb to your meaningless ignorance and lack of originality My shoulders have carried the weight of a thousand voiceless screams So I stand here before you and say "Do your worst" Words are wind and your weapon of choice will no longer control me You will no longer render me inferior So while they dwell in that pitiful superficial cave The flames of the roaring fire dance upon the wall They remain mentally shackled Possessed by the puppet shadows, projected before them Distorted vibrations cocooned by the unaware Cookie cutter personality with hollowed minds For that is their reality They tried to confine me to the night (ha ha) But I like the taste of the dark And as I looked through the cracks in the wall an untangled the cobwebs of thought I finally know who I am I will no longer be backhanded or backstabbed I can no longer backpaddle and blackout I will no longer stand still and fear the worse I've got a fettish for destruction and an appetit for creativity Razerbladed teardrops trickle down and slice my face into puddles of emotional distress and actualization I will no longer be tormented by illusion that being different is being wrong A throwaway kid they called me And a throwaway kid I am No longer empty and alone Finally happy That I will never fit in, with them