my Diaryland Diary

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Coral Fang

Since I e-mailed you 24 hours ago, I've checked my inbox at least a dozen times. What will your epitaph read? Will our friendship get any last words or thoughts from you, or will you just let it die? Well now I'm getting angry you insignifiant prick...who the fuck are you? Who the fuck do you think that you are?

The thing is, T, That you're not insignificant. Not at all, and certainly not to me.
Gawd. Dammit.

I love the Distillers, and I love this song. It's going through my head right now. That it lacks in eloquence, it more than makes up for in sincerity. Here it is.

"Die On A Rope"

Tell me something, tell me stupid, will I die, will I die on a rope?
Tell me something, tell me stupid, will I die, will I die?

I wish that you didn't love me no more, I've been dead for years,
I wish that you didn't own me no more, I've been here before.

Tell me something, tell me stupid, will I die, will I die on a rope?
Tell me something, tell me stupid, will I die, will I die? No, I won't!
Tell me something, tell me stupid, will I die, will I die on a rope?
Tell me something, tell me stupid, will I die, will I die?

I want to draw the blood from your neck, spill the lies in your bed.
I will give you a holy white rose, cut the tongue from your head.

Tell me something, tell me stupid, will I die, will I die on a rope?
Tell me something, tell me stupid, will I die, will I die? No, I won't!
Tell me something, tell me stupid, will I die, will I die on a rope?
Tell me something, tell me stupid, will I die, will I die?

I belong to a line of red scent, teach the heart to reflect.
The wound is wise for primal black eyes, there's a scarlet letter in my chest.

5:07 p.m. - 2005-07-16

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