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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Machines Built By Robots.
Our only hope is to cut off our noses.
We'll be unmerciful, as we were meant to be.
Rip out the right pages, it will surely become crystal clear.
My bones are hollow, but I still can't fly.
My eyes are green, but I never did grow just right.
Here's to the friends I used to love.
Here's to the friends who can't define what love ever meant.
There won't be another chance to drink so heavily.
All my friends are fucking dead.
We'll be unmerciful, as we were meant to be.
Rip out the right pages, it will surely become crystal clear.
My bones are hollow, but I still can't fly.
My eyes are green, but I never did grow just right.
Here's to the friends I used to love.
Here's to the friends who can't define what love ever meant.
There won't be another chance to drink so heavily.
All my friends are fucking dead.
Published 7th Apr 2013
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