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I have no words left,
You came into my life,
Like a tornado,
And swept them all away,
Leaving me shattered,
In broken pieces,
The remains of me.
And now you're coming back,
To play with the dust,
Haven't you had enough?
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It's the coming back and playing around with the dust that is the most satisfying part of the whole inflicting-the-pain-process. It's the twist on the knife already in your leg and the broken nose to accompnay the bag over your head. Without the addition of insult to injury than we would be forced to perpetuate a culture that believed in live and let live and god forbid, gratuitus closure.
