Corrupted way of Life

The days begin to blur

Like a small boy running his finger tips through a still wet painting

That has been hanging on the wall since the day he was born.

The days begin to blur

Like the vision of a nine year old girl that has lost her glasses

And has been looking for what feels like 100 years.

The days begin to blur.

Every day the same tape I play

The machine gets old and beaten up

But never stops working

Just living with the same bad decisions and rust

Deciding that one day something will change

And the rust will turn to bright pixie dust

And take over the sullen way of life

That envelopes me and for some reason wont let go.

The tape repeats.

What I have now memorized as my only way of life

Is the feeling of walking alone

Through the streets of the dark freezing cold

With raindrops catapulting down from the sky

As I struggle to find shelter and a better way of living

But get dragged down by the large burden of life.

The tape repeats.

The same s**t I have to deal with

Over and over again

Like its on a continuous loop

And the feeling of distress creeping up inside of you

And threatening to blow is too much to handle.

What has been bottled up for so long has just detonated

And you cant grasp it anymore.

So finally the tape stops playing and you remove its beaten up body

And place in a new tape destined to end up as just another thing to end up hating

Because you will never be good enough to replace the rusted up machine

That plays the tapes and ends up corrupting them.