My Soul Yearns like a burning drum
Except it isn’t a succulent treat, soft as a plum
No, it is bitter and grim and hard to see
It yearns for more and never ceases
My glass is never quite empty; but far from complete
Except it isn’t a succulent treat, soft as a plum
No, it is bitter and grim and hard to see
It yearns for more and never ceases
My glass is never quite empty; but far from complete
My Soul Yearns and exhausts in its efforts
Running off of fumes and delusions
I shut my eyes and hope and pray
That someday I will sore and yearn no more
Free from fruitless fantasies
No longer imprisoned in my own being
Perhaps that is nothing but wishful thinking
Running off of fumes and delusions
I shut my eyes and hope and pray
That someday I will sore and yearn no more
Free from fruitless fantasies
No longer imprisoned in my own being
Perhaps that is nothing but wishful thinking
My Soul Yearns for everything and nothing
Each breath feels stolen, never truly my own
For, I don’t live for me, I live to feed
The harrowing hunger humming melodies
The itch I can’t scratch
That he can’t seem to relieve, and neither can she
Each breath feels stolen, never truly my own
For, I don’t live for me, I live to feed
The harrowing hunger humming melodies
The itch I can’t scratch
That he can’t seem to relieve, and neither can she
My Soul Yearns, and my thoughts soar
What happens if I make it?
Will I finally breathe?
Will I no longer seethe at my reflection?
Will each rejection feel less excruciating?
My selfishness impedes on my morals
Cautiousness ever-fleeting, unable to save myself from painful whims
And self-destructive sins
What happens if I make it?
Will I finally breathe?
Will I no longer seethe at my reflection?
Will each rejection feel less excruciating?
My selfishness impedes on my morals
Cautiousness ever-fleeting, unable to save myself from painful whims
And self-destructive sins
My Soul Yearns and aches and burns from within
And at times, living feels like a fruitless endeavor
A glorified humiliation ritual is all it truly is
in which you succeed in summoning the greek goddess Oizys
They tell me to be patient, and I dig my nails into my skin
It feels as though I am being mocked, is that a joke?
I ‘ve tried my hardest to wait my turn, to see me efforts flourish
But it never happens, no I will never be free
Not until My Soul is complete, no longer clouded by doubt
My Soul Yearns and I fight to live without
And at times, living feels like a fruitless endeavor
A glorified humiliation ritual is all it truly is
in which you succeed in summoning the greek goddess Oizys
They tell me to be patient, and I dig my nails into my skin
It feels as though I am being mocked, is that a joke?
I ‘ve tried my hardest to wait my turn, to see me efforts flourish
But it never happens, no I will never be free
Not until My Soul is complete, no longer clouded by doubt
My Soul Yearns and I fight to live without