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letras de
Wilting Rose
SUICIDE
0 opinión
Letra y Significado de
SUICIDE,
Wilting Rose
Significados y Opiniones (
0
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Letra
Oh no! Esta misteriosa letra aun no encontro explicación. Si estas acá, podes ser la primer persona que aporte el significado de esta canción. No es necesario registrarse, puede ser anonimo. Hace clic en el botón verde y envianos tu opinión.
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Envia tu opinión de SUICIDE
A blob of deep red seeping from my arm.
so pretty.
don't worry, i won't do any lasting harm.
i'm sensible.
the cuts get deeper as the days go by.
it doesn't hurt.
the more blood lost, the less tears cried.
i never cry now.
people are saying i'm going mad.
i'm not.
maybe i am, is it normal to feel this bad?
of course.
this time is really confusing me.
don't panic.
you can't escape from it; there's nowhere to flee.
so fight it.
scars spread ever closer to my wrist.
what's happening?
i know what to do, i can't miss.
no, don't.
searing pain shooting up my spine.
make it stop.
a dizzy head but i'm feeling fine.
don't fall.
there's a lot of red on the floor.
like a carpet.
i don't think i can stand up anymore.
then sit.
head spinning crazily, i can hear bells.
getting quiet now.
is this it? am i freed from my living hell?
. . .
Corregir Letra
Corregir Letra
A blob of deep red seeping from my arm. so pretty. don't worry, i won't do any lasting harm. i'm sensible. the cuts get deeper as the days go by. it doesn't hurt. the more blood lost, the less tears cried. i never cry now. people are saying i'm going mad. i'm not. maybe i am, is it normal to feel this bad? of course. this time is really confusing me. don't panic. you can't escape from it; there's nowhere to flee. so fight it. scars spread ever closer to my wrist. what's happening? i know what to do, i can't miss. no, don't. searing pain shooting up my spine. make it stop. a dizzy head but i'm feeling fine. don't fall. there's a lot of red on the floor. like a carpet. i don't think i can stand up anymore. then sit. head spinning crazily, i can hear bells. getting quiet now. is this it? am i freed from my living hell? . . .
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