Always looking for a new worry to flirt with,
do you get satisfaction from the hurt?
You birth it.
You’re dying from the inside out.
That worries you?
Right on cue.
You have a strange attraction
To you.
To what you can do.
To what you can fix.
To power.
Do you have will power?
Or pride masked in self-control?
You’re the boss aren’t you–
You hold the world to be in control.
To be safe.
But the irony is,
The weight of the world
is actually killing you.
Not so safe, eh?
You can’t be married to the world
and peace, too.
Worry and Control are an odd couple, aren’t they?
What makes you think you can eat your cake and keep the cake, too.
Headliner says: The World vs. you.
You think you can win that fight?
Death is knocking.
And you’re less than an underdog.
No chance in that fight.
Lily in the field
You traded your beauty
And became a worry whore.
There’s someone fighting for you,
BUT YOU PUSH HIM AWAY.
You refuse the army but you’re in a war.
You refuse the army but you’re in a war.
Control. You need it.
You feast upon it.
Too busy to notice
You’re loosing focus,
the parasite is actually feasting on you.
A life-sucking hound,
That chews and chews.
And spits out what’s left: A tired soul.
So much for control.
You’re partnered with worry.
You keep the letter of the law
But you forget the spirit of the law.
Strain out a gnat and swallow a camel.
A monkey’s on your back.
But your life? You’re dating worry and
You are in control.
That’s right.
You
are the one that holds the coats
of your own stoners.
A mastered skill.
You hold their heavy coats
and breathe your pummeled breaths
at the same time
the rocks hit you.
That’s quite something.
That’s right.
You’ve beat it.
You’ve beat this life.
Black and blue.
By romancing worry.
What you do with fear defines your life.
Give it up.
It’s too heavy for your hands.
Give it up.
It’s too heavy for your soul.
Or is this not the first time you have heard this.
Then go ahead.
Give worry another kiss.