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©2016 by Bury MIA.

String Theory

The games we play like skipping a stone,

The battery of baiting a rose,

And that twisted way you say I could be wrong, I could be wrong.

 

The fault of ours is under the sky,

With the energy that keeps us alive,

And that stupid way you say I could be wrong, I could be wrong.

 

I can feel the strings above me,

Tearing at our wasted hands,

"I know, but there is nowhere else to go."

 

Her majesty didn't oblige,

With utilities built under advice,

And that sick, sick way you say I could be wrong, I could be wrong.

I can feel the strings above me,

Tearing at our wasted hands,

"I know, but there is nowhere else to go."

 

Well lets both be honest,

That I am the monster,

That we built together,

To hide from each other,

And as it gets bitter,

Thrown out with bath water,

And over and over and over and over.

I can feel the strings above me,

Tearing at our wasted hands,

"I know, but there is nowhere else to go."

 

I can't lie, I can't wait,

For these strings, to fall away,

But someday, but someday we'll find a way.

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