Buried - Quick Topical No Showed
Posted: Sat Aug 20, 2011 3:46 am
PICTURE GIVEN
Buried
The Coffin
This coffin is a sarcophagus, I'm locked in it,
I still haven't got the jist to hold consciousness,
One minute, my life is in tact, next, confined and I'm trapped,
With each breath I take, I feel like it's my last,
Surrounded by death, want to take off, but I'm grounded instead,
Although I'm in so deep, i'm still out of my depth,
I'm fully rested now, so why do I lay under unsteady grounds,
The weight of the world above me as the earth presses down,
Wether asleep or awake, I drift off into as hysteria's prey,
I seek the easiest way, but it's too dark to even see the escape,
Dramatic like this is a movie, I scream with no one listening to me,
Imprisoned, it's stupid, my own lack of ambition the jury,
It's a smack in the face, to leave me here sad and afriad,
Caputred as prey, I try to wriggle out but I'm static in place,
I want control, but recall and receit 'Who's the boss',
I'm all alone, but not the only one in this wooden box,
One in a group, but restrained by solitude and other disputes,
There's nothing to do but remain here like a child stuck in the womb,
If I die here, I want a funeral, it's not unsuitable,
Residing in this box, my coffin, my office cubical.
Buried
The Coffin
This coffin is a sarcophagus, I'm locked in it,
I still haven't got the jist to hold consciousness,
One minute, my life is in tact, next, confined and I'm trapped,
With each breath I take, I feel like it's my last,
Surrounded by death, want to take off, but I'm grounded instead,
Although I'm in so deep, i'm still out of my depth,
I'm fully rested now, so why do I lay under unsteady grounds,
The weight of the world above me as the earth presses down,
Wether asleep or awake, I drift off into as hysteria's prey,
I seek the easiest way, but it's too dark to even see the escape,
Dramatic like this is a movie, I scream with no one listening to me,
Imprisoned, it's stupid, my own lack of ambition the jury,
It's a smack in the face, to leave me here sad and afriad,
Caputred as prey, I try to wriggle out but I'm static in place,
I want control, but recall and receit 'Who's the boss',
I'm all alone, but not the only one in this wooden box,
One in a group, but restrained by solitude and other disputes,
There's nothing to do but remain here like a child stuck in the womb,
If I die here, I want a funeral, it's not unsuitable,
Residing in this box, my coffin, my office cubical.