Maeve was drunk all the time.
Tonight, was not an exception.
She drove trucks for a living. Her father and mother were kind enough to give birth to her, not realizing that they had to take care of her until she was eighteen. Long story short, they took the easy way out.
I sit here,
Me and her,
She cries silent tears because her calm is meant to torture.
The air around her is meaningless, name it and it's yours.
He calls it silence, a defeaning one,
He hates it with a vengeance
Looks every corner for a door before this abyss swallows him full.
The darkness of this room might resemble his soul and what mankind is not afraid of his innerself.
I sit with her too
But this silence is intimate to me
A dull tune of cords plucking at my heart to sleep,
It doesn't matter if we can hear our own breaths
Or my watch ticking
I want her closer than the chaos outside that litter confetti round my tomb of sadness.
All this death echo is better than their words of madness.
Eyes and eyes we look because we are supposed to be lonely and quiet in here
In this room how do I tell her this silence is so intimate to me that I don't hate her,
That I want her bring to this place everyday so I can find peace in this hellhouse.
If i fall asleep to the lull of my own heartbeat, i want to wake up in this spell.
Your calm is meant to torture,
But my thoughts are loud enough.
This room is meant to drive me insane,
But all these voices people think they need feel stale,
Not in my head, not in my heart,
Stare at the wall ahead,
There's no way out than sleeping to death