Apocalypse

I don't fit here or any place else.
I'm a shooting star waiting for the time
when I'll probably gonna die,
or find the stairway they should build to heavens

I feel like I'm about to explode
Suddenly blood, sugar and nicotine
comes out of my body 
like a waterfall with no end

Hold on my gross,
Put all my fingers together and bring the lighter to set me on fire

And then, it will be the end of a miserable lyric with no soul to be reminded
A palm with no whisper to replay
A french horn with no empty boxes to restart

Just this poor little bastard... So young and so ready to die.

ilustração: agnes cecille