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445,329 Albums + 604,843 Individual Songs
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The Most Sad - Subjectivity Objectivity (HQ FULL ALBUM 2013)
Playing Next: sholawat terbaru penyejuk hati full album 2019 du9TjbXKtA 144p
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Download: http://themostsad.bandcamp.com/album/subjectivity-objectivity
Dear Diary,:
\"Living life in hospital beds.\"
Eyes black, arms blue
It's no wonder what you've been up to.
\"White lace so elegantly decorating frail wrists.\"
I see you're hopeless
\"It's like I'm waiting to die.\"
It's like I'm dying to live
Your thirst for affection,
you weren't worth the wait
\"I've never even seen you smile.\"
The words rolled off of her tongue
It's like an empty smile
It's like a metaphor for a lab rat's eyes
\"I've never even seen you smile.\"
I'm so sick of feeling sorry for myself.
\"Mending slowly, these hallowed wounds. While I paint the sky red.\"
And if you're searching for blame, that's all I've got.
And if you're looking for love, you've missed your chance.
Empires:
We called this pity, but our fingers were crossed.
Pushing hard against the walls, I'm just trying to be something.
Our eyes face forward, pushed our boundaries to the walls.
Amass a new wealth in all our possessions.
I'm trying, I'm trying, I'm trying.
Falling into disrepair
turns out that I'm nothing
Incontent with living here
With your hands around my throat
Now I sigh, with nothing left to remember you by.
Hopeless remnants grasping all that once was.
Take these dark memories, and hold them close.
Wet eyes, never dry.
Insignificant other, and that's all I'll ever be.
Why Does She Need Glasses if She's Deaf?:
Now bare with me,
as I struggle to bare with myself.
And these fragment ideas that I spend all my time trying to put into words,
but to no avail.
Forgotten beloved.
Some malpracticed semblance of hate.
I've never felt more alive than when I'm seeing through bloodshot eyes.
Change my design, built to fail.
I woke up dead again today
Screaming, but nothing.
We've come to accept what we know as abandon.
Ignoring the gleam in ones' eye.
Change my design, built to fail.
If I open myself up will you see something worthwhile?
Or a mess of a child masquerading as a man?
Highway 17:
Balance the pain that turns into rot.
Balance the chemicals in my brain.
Sedated, my hands and my feet, and my bones.
Sedated, complacent, and ultimately fucked.
Here's to me, discontent with anything, everyone, anyone, everything.
And you.
Trembling hands, and I can't seem to find my voice.
Cry havoc.
At a crippling loss for words.
I'm trapped inside of my head.
Stripped of choice, and the will to fight for my own.
Dragging feet, and a whispered response.
Introspective, and facing my worst.
Deafness, silence.
Opened mouth, botched attempts at prose.
Cut out my tongue, clearly fucking useless.
And even if I had to walk the world for you
Just to prove how much I care.
Fuck you, I'd rather fucking rot.
Object:
Forget about all of these discrepancies.
Stack up excuses like sandbags against a storm.
I know how this will end, but lost just where it started.
Schedule my loathing in a timely manner
Switching my sights to me.
I'm too busy to hate you more than I hate myself.
Narrator tests protagonist's love by separation.
Instincts are ever so pure.
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