Text: Papa Roach. Tightrope.

:
My words are weapons in which I murder you with but please don't get scared please do not turn your head we are the future the 21st. century dyslexic glue sniffing cybersluts with homicidal minds and handguns we are the same nothing will change there is a thin line between what's good and what is evil I will tiptoe down that line but I feel unstable my life is a circus and I'm tripping down the tightrope there's nothing left to save me now so i will not look down and it happens again and again and again