Their are people who ask the obvious question, with no repossession from the lies that they've told. You hold on so dear, nearly dead, neatly bleed out from a wound untold of.
But when you wake up every morning living for a life of helpless mourning, you can't help but wonder, and ask the obvious question.
You wonder when it will end, questions spin, answers within.
you wonder when it will end, questions spin, answers within.
you wonder...
(please tell me)
you wonder...
(what do I do)
Your soul is drenched in fear, quaking form the sheer though of a happy ending.
When one sees one living room turn into a blood bath, you wonder what can be left in the aftermath.
Shatter memories followed by dreaming of screaming, for your life as you feel theirs only one way out, and that way's down. Weighed down from child depressions, you wake up and ask the obvious question.
Why am I here?
you wonder...
(please tell me)
you wonder...
(what do I do)
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~Nya~
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