People have feelings. I know that now.


Thanks for the tortured soul
Thanks for haunting me when I drool on my pillow
Thanks for making me hate the world
Thanks for fucking me up

I’d like to leave a note at your front door
Telling you how much I love you
You know, the kind of incinsere thing that would cement my feelings
But whatever I write to you is tinder
And so are you

I used to think father’s were men
Now I know that father’s are imaginary
I used to think that God was a ghost
Now I think that God is when I come

Is this the way they felt before they walked in the door?
Count your blessings, kid
Blame it on the drugs, blame it on the ex, blame it on the river
But don’t blame yourself, you’ve got enough on you for that

Surely I’m not the only one
Who wants everything to live
And everything to die
Funny how similar how similar love and hatred are
And how alike life and death can be
Count your blessings


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