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Ever wonder sometimes if you've cheated death?
And sometimes you're just living accidently... and you're not really supposed to be here...?
I mean... what if you were saved when you weren't meant to be? What if you really were meant to die, and your life was meant to end there... and everything that happened then on wasn't fate, and everything you did messed everyone else up completely?
And we're all walking down the wrong roads and it's too late to turn back and in fairness we haven't got a clue where we are.
And you're afraid to speak because you'll hurt someone and you're afraid to be quiet because people will drift. And you're afraid of speaking your truth in case you make someone feel guilty, even though they shouldn't because it's your fault you're here anyway, you really should be dead by now.
And sometimes it really does seem like you've got nothing more to learn. And even the hardest of tasks seem pointless, because it doesn't matter how good you are at anything, you'll always be just another black spot on the world that was supposed to be wiped off a good long time ago.
And you spend so much time helping others that you forget to help yourself, and you spend so long listening you forget to talk back.
And all the things you despise you really wanted to love, and all the things you missed you don't know why you did. And because you were never expected to exist this long, there wasn't anyone or anything planned for you. You were just meant to be another name carved into a piece of stone, for those that never really knew you but pretended they did to mourn over every now and again.
I'm not suicidal, I just can't see why I'm supposed to be alive. I'm not happy to die, and I'm not happy to live on. It's more just a limbo thing. Waiting perhaps for the God's to realise that it messed up, and maybe they can go back through the code and make sure that car hit you/that illness killed you/you had the courage to go through with it all.
Or maybe it's just the fact that you've survived so long, that you forget what it's like to fear anything. And maybe you're just here because there's nowhere better for you to be.
And maybe you're alone but it's your own fault really, and maybe you're dead anyway even though you think you're alive.
Because there's worse things you can do than let someone die, you can watch them live when they were never meant to be here this long.
You can watch them realise how lonely there are, how nothing can really interupt their watching of the world, their constant helping, trying to make use of them being here.
Maybe we're supposed to be dead, or perhaps we are dead, and perhaps this is what angels are. Perhaps they've just been killed through life, and they have no more to do but to help others to keep living. To make sure that no-one ever ends up like they do.
Do you think all the angels need is the happiness that they've saved another life? This is why angels need their wings. Because if they can't fly, then they're still nothing, no matter how many lives they can prolong.
And you're running out of people you can talk to not because there just aren't people there, but because you just can't open to them. You're afraid you'll rock their soul, you're afraid you'll upset them and they'll end up as dead as you will.
Because maybe all the angels of this world have found the meaning of life, and all the angels are just pretending they haven't found it. And perhaps they just don't want to tell anyone for fear that the truth would kill them.
Because it really would. And then they'd have to watch another person die along side them, not commit suicide but then not live either. Just wander along life and think where did it end and where did it begin?
And slowly all the angel's emotions die, and slowly they die along with them... and they forget that all the time, if they could just see behind them, stuck on their back are two beautiful wings that could carry them higher than they could even imagine.
Because angels perhaps imagine too much, and tend not to try and see anymore because they believe they don't need to.
But perhaps we do. Even angels need to believe that there's more to life than all they've seen.
And maybe not one person can inspire them, and maybe one can, but not for long. And maybe it's just life that needs to inspire them... because that's the root of it all. Maybe we just need to live a little longer before we can judge anything.
And so we do.
And so all the angels and me are sitting around, wondering why we're still alive, why we were spared and for what purpose. Wondering how many more people in this life we can change. Not hurt, not destroy, but show them how much there is to life.
And we can go and sit with our backs to the wall and cry because nobody truly believes our wings are strong enough, and surely we don't.
And our lives are twisting, angels dying and being created, some giving in and telling others of the meaning of life and watching as they too can't cope with it and become as dead as the rest of us.
And we're really running out of ideas. We're running out of what to do and reasons why to keep living. Because we seem to be destroying more than we're creating.
But we just have to stop.
And we just have to look.
Because maybe we were supposed to be dead... but we're not.
And as long as we can keep breathing, well, we can keep trying.
Because the angels and me, well, we've got this plan. We reckon if we can inspire enough people to live, then maybe they can inspire us to come back to life.
And maybe all those angels and me aren't really dead, we're just breathing so quietly. And maybe, just maybe, we're yet to really open our wings properly.
And maybe, just maybe, we haven't even began to see what we're capable of.
And sometimes you're just living accidently... and you're not really supposed to be here...?
I mean... what if you were saved when you weren't meant to be? What if you really were meant to die, and your life was meant to end there... and everything that happened then on wasn't fate, and everything you did messed everyone else up completely?
And we're all walking down the wrong roads and it's too late to turn back and in fairness we haven't got a clue where we are.
And you're afraid to speak because you'll hurt someone and you're afraid to be quiet because people will drift. And you're afraid of speaking your truth in case you make someone feel guilty, even though they shouldn't because it's your fault you're here anyway, you really should be dead by now.
And sometimes it really does seem like you've got nothing more to learn. And even the hardest of tasks seem pointless, because it doesn't matter how good you are at anything, you'll always be just another black spot on the world that was supposed to be wiped off a good long time ago.
And you spend so much time helping others that you forget to help yourself, and you spend so long listening you forget to talk back.
And all the things you despise you really wanted to love, and all the things you missed you don't know why you did. And because you were never expected to exist this long, there wasn't anyone or anything planned for you. You were just meant to be another name carved into a piece of stone, for those that never really knew you but pretended they did to mourn over every now and again.
I'm not suicidal, I just can't see why I'm supposed to be alive. I'm not happy to die, and I'm not happy to live on. It's more just a limbo thing. Waiting perhaps for the God's to realise that it messed up, and maybe they can go back through the code and make sure that car hit you/that illness killed you/you had the courage to go through with it all.
Or maybe it's just the fact that you've survived so long, that you forget what it's like to fear anything. And maybe you're just here because there's nowhere better for you to be.
And maybe you're alone but it's your own fault really, and maybe you're dead anyway even though you think you're alive.
Because there's worse things you can do than let someone die, you can watch them live when they were never meant to be here this long.
You can watch them realise how lonely there are, how nothing can really interupt their watching of the world, their constant helping, trying to make use of them being here.
Maybe we're supposed to be dead, or perhaps we are dead, and perhaps this is what angels are. Perhaps they've just been killed through life, and they have no more to do but to help others to keep living. To make sure that no-one ever ends up like they do.
Do you think all the angels need is the happiness that they've saved another life? This is why angels need their wings. Because if they can't fly, then they're still nothing, no matter how many lives they can prolong.
And you're running out of people you can talk to not because there just aren't people there, but because you just can't open to them. You're afraid you'll rock their soul, you're afraid you'll upset them and they'll end up as dead as you will.
Because maybe all the angels of this world have found the meaning of life, and all the angels are just pretending they haven't found it. And perhaps they just don't want to tell anyone for fear that the truth would kill them.
Because it really would. And then they'd have to watch another person die along side them, not commit suicide but then not live either. Just wander along life and think where did it end and where did it begin?
And slowly all the angel's emotions die, and slowly they die along with them... and they forget that all the time, if they could just see behind them, stuck on their back are two beautiful wings that could carry them higher than they could even imagine.
Because angels perhaps imagine too much, and tend not to try and see anymore because they believe they don't need to.
But perhaps we do. Even angels need to believe that there's more to life than all they've seen.
And maybe not one person can inspire them, and maybe one can, but not for long. And maybe it's just life that needs to inspire them... because that's the root of it all. Maybe we just need to live a little longer before we can judge anything.
And so we do.
And so all the angels and me are sitting around, wondering why we're still alive, why we were spared and for what purpose. Wondering how many more people in this life we can change. Not hurt, not destroy, but show them how much there is to life.
And we can go and sit with our backs to the wall and cry because nobody truly believes our wings are strong enough, and surely we don't.
And our lives are twisting, angels dying and being created, some giving in and telling others of the meaning of life and watching as they too can't cope with it and become as dead as the rest of us.
And we're really running out of ideas. We're running out of what to do and reasons why to keep living. Because we seem to be destroying more than we're creating.
But we just have to stop.
And we just have to look.
Because maybe we were supposed to be dead... but we're not.
And as long as we can keep breathing, well, we can keep trying.
Because the angels and me, well, we've got this plan. We reckon if we can inspire enough people to live, then maybe they can inspire us to come back to life.
And maybe all those angels and me aren't really dead, we're just breathing so quietly. And maybe, just maybe, we're yet to really open our wings properly.
And maybe, just maybe, we haven't even began to see what we're capable of.
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Ever wonder sometimes if you've cheated death?
And sometimes you're just living accidently... and you're not really supposed to be here...?
I mean... what if you were saved when you weren't meant to be? What if you really were meant to die, and your life was meant to end there... and everything that happened then on wasn't fate, and everything you did messed everyone else up completely?
And we're all walking down the wrong roads and it's too late to turn back and in fairness we haven't got a clue where we are.
And you're afraid to speak because you'll hurt someone and you're afraid to be quiet because people will drift. And you're afraid of speaking your truth in case you make someone feel guilty, even though they shouldn't because it's your fault you're here anyway, you really should be dead by now.
And sometimes it really does seem like you've got nothing more to learn. And even the hardest of tasks seem pointless, because it doesn't matter how good you are at anything, you'll always be just another black spot on the world that was supposed to be wiped off a good long time ago.
And you spend so much time helping others that you forget to help yourself, and you spend so long listening you forget to talk back.
And all the things you despise you really wanted to love, and all the things you missed you don't know why you did. And because you were never expected to exist this long, there wasn't anyone or anything planned for you. You were just meant to be another name carved into a piece of stone, for those that never really knew you but pretended they did to mourn over every now and again.
I'm not suicidal, I just can't see why I'm supposed to be alive. I'm not happy to die, and I'm not happy to live on. It's more just a limbo thing. Waiting perhaps for the God's to realise that it messed up, and maybe they can go back through the code and make sure that car hit you/that illness killed you/you had the courage to go through with it all.
Or maybe it's just the fact that you've survived so long, that you forget what it's like to fear anything. And maybe you're just here because there's nowhere better for you to be.
And maybe you're alone but it's your own fault really, and maybe you're dead anyway even though you think you're alive.
Because there's worse things you can do than let someone die, you can watch them live when they were never meant to be here this long.
You can watch them realise how lonely there are, how nothing can really interupt their watching of the world, their constant helping, trying to make use of them being here.
Maybe we're supposed to be dead, or perhaps we are dead, and perhaps this is what angels are. Perhaps they've just been killed through life, and they have no more to do but to help others to keep living. To make sure that no-one ever ends up like they do.
Do you think all the angels need is the happiness that they've saved another life? This is why angels need their wings. Because if they can't fly, then they're still nothing, no matter how many lives they can prolong.
And you're running out of people you can talk to not because there just aren't people there, but because you just can't open to them. You're afraid you'll rock their soul, you're afraid you'll upset them and they'll end up as dead as you will.
Because maybe all the angels of this world have found the meaning of life, and all the angels are just pretending they haven't found it. And perhaps they just don't want to tell anyone for fear that the truth would kill them.
Because it really would. And then they'd have to watch another person die along side them, not commit suicide but then not live either. Just wander along life and think where did it end and where did it begin?
And slowly all the angel's emotions die, and slowly they die along with them... and they forget that all the time, if they could just see behind them, stuck on their back are two beautiful wings that could carry them higher than they could even imagine.
Because angels perhaps imagine too much, and tend not to try and see anymore because they believe they don't need to.
But perhaps we do. Even angels need to believe that there's more to life than all they've seen.
And maybe not one person can inspire them, and maybe one can, but not for long. And maybe it's just life that needs to inspire them... because that's the root of it all. Maybe we just need to live a little longer before we can judge anything.
And so we do.
And so all the angels and me are sitting around, wondering why we're still alive, why we were spared and for what purpose. Wondering how many more people in this life we can change. Not hurt, not destroy, but show them how much there is to life.
And we can go and sit with our backs to the wall and cry because nobody truly believes our wings are strong enough, and surely we don't.
And our lives are twisting, angels dying and being created, some giving in and telling others of the meaning of life and watching as they too can't cope with it and become as dead as the rest of us.
And we're really running out of ideas. We're running out of what to do and reasons why to keep living. Because we seem to be destroying more than we're creating.
But we just have to stop.
And we just have to look.
Because maybe we were supposed to be dead... but we're not.
And as long as we can keep breathing, well, we can keep trying.
Because the angels and me, well, we've got this plan. We reckon if we can inspire enough people to live, then maybe they can inspire us to come back to life.
And maybe all those angels and me aren't really dead, we're just breathing so quietly. And maybe, just maybe, we're yet to really open our wings properly.
And maybe, just maybe, we haven't even began to see what we're capable of.
And sometimes you're just living accidently... and you're not really supposed to be here...?
I mean... what if you were saved when you weren't meant to be? What if you really were meant to die, and your life was meant to end there... and everything that happened then on wasn't fate, and everything you did messed everyone else up completely?
And we're all walking down the wrong roads and it's too late to turn back and in fairness we haven't got a clue where we are.
And you're afraid to speak because you'll hurt someone and you're afraid to be quiet because people will drift. And you're afraid of speaking your truth in case you make someone feel guilty, even though they shouldn't because it's your fault you're here anyway, you really should be dead by now.
And sometimes it really does seem like you've got nothing more to learn. And even the hardest of tasks seem pointless, because it doesn't matter how good you are at anything, you'll always be just another black spot on the world that was supposed to be wiped off a good long time ago.
And you spend so much time helping others that you forget to help yourself, and you spend so long listening you forget to talk back.
And all the things you despise you really wanted to love, and all the things you missed you don't know why you did. And because you were never expected to exist this long, there wasn't anyone or anything planned for you. You were just meant to be another name carved into a piece of stone, for those that never really knew you but pretended they did to mourn over every now and again.
I'm not suicidal, I just can't see why I'm supposed to be alive. I'm not happy to die, and I'm not happy to live on. It's more just a limbo thing. Waiting perhaps for the God's to realise that it messed up, and maybe they can go back through the code and make sure that car hit you/that illness killed you/you had the courage to go through with it all.
Or maybe it's just the fact that you've survived so long, that you forget what it's like to fear anything. And maybe you're just here because there's nowhere better for you to be.
And maybe you're alone but it's your own fault really, and maybe you're dead anyway even though you think you're alive.
Because there's worse things you can do than let someone die, you can watch them live when they were never meant to be here this long.
You can watch them realise how lonely there are, how nothing can really interupt their watching of the world, their constant helping, trying to make use of them being here.
Maybe we're supposed to be dead, or perhaps we are dead, and perhaps this is what angels are. Perhaps they've just been killed through life, and they have no more to do but to help others to keep living. To make sure that no-one ever ends up like they do.
Do you think all the angels need is the happiness that they've saved another life? This is why angels need their wings. Because if they can't fly, then they're still nothing, no matter how many lives they can prolong.
And you're running out of people you can talk to not because there just aren't people there, but because you just can't open to them. You're afraid you'll rock their soul, you're afraid you'll upset them and they'll end up as dead as you will.
Because maybe all the angels of this world have found the meaning of life, and all the angels are just pretending they haven't found it. And perhaps they just don't want to tell anyone for fear that the truth would kill them.
Because it really would. And then they'd have to watch another person die along side them, not commit suicide but then not live either. Just wander along life and think where did it end and where did it begin?
And slowly all the angel's emotions die, and slowly they die along with them... and they forget that all the time, if they could just see behind them, stuck on their back are two beautiful wings that could carry them higher than they could even imagine.
Because angels perhaps imagine too much, and tend not to try and see anymore because they believe they don't need to.
But perhaps we do. Even angels need to believe that there's more to life than all they've seen.
And maybe not one person can inspire them, and maybe one can, but not for long. And maybe it's just life that needs to inspire them... because that's the root of it all. Maybe we just need to live a little longer before we can judge anything.
And so we do.
And so all the angels and me are sitting around, wondering why we're still alive, why we were spared and for what purpose. Wondering how many more people in this life we can change. Not hurt, not destroy, but show them how much there is to life.
And we can go and sit with our backs to the wall and cry because nobody truly believes our wings are strong enough, and surely we don't.
And our lives are twisting, angels dying and being created, some giving in and telling others of the meaning of life and watching as they too can't cope with it and become as dead as the rest of us.
And we're really running out of ideas. We're running out of what to do and reasons why to keep living. Because we seem to be destroying more than we're creating.
But we just have to stop.
And we just have to look.
Because maybe we were supposed to be dead... but we're not.
And as long as we can keep breathing, well, we can keep trying.
Because the angels and me, well, we've got this plan. We reckon if we can inspire enough people to live, then maybe they can inspire us to come back to life.
And maybe all those angels and me aren't really dead, we're just breathing so quietly. And maybe, just maybe, we're yet to really open our wings properly.
And maybe, just maybe, we haven't even began to see what we're capable of.
Been watching Final Destination Grix?
Yeah, I do think you were talking out your anus for some of that.
I've nearly been knocked over as many times as I can remember, all of which were not my fault :D
I kind of a fear of death over my shoulder... sudden worries about accidents or something about to happen.
Yeah, I do think you were talking out your anus for some of that.
I've nearly been knocked over as many times as I can remember, all of which were not my fault :D
I kind of a fear of death over my shoulder... sudden worries about accidents or something about to happen.
SHEEPY wrote:
> Been watching Final Destination Grix?
My thoughts excactly. :)
I will add serious thoughts to this topic once fully sober. Until then, adieu.
> Been watching Final Destination Grix?
My thoughts excactly. :)
I will add serious thoughts to this topic once fully sober. Until then, adieu.
Never seen Final Destination...
I still really like this. :0) If you don't agree, write why, Sheepy dude... I like to discuss stuff.
I still really like this. :0) If you don't agree, write why, Sheepy dude... I like to discuss stuff.
Bloody hell, taking it deep.
Going to read this one again when I wake up and reply. :)
Going to read this one again when I wake up and reply. :)
You're taking for granted that we believe in destiny. I don't.
Ah, but what if that's because you're destined not to believe in detiny?
But I don't believe that that can be true....
You never wrote that while drunk.
Best I ever manage while drunk is to accidentally profess my love for people via text message. And even then the grammar is terrible and the spelling shakey.
Best I ever manage while drunk is to accidentally profess my love for people via text message. And even then the grammar is terrible and the spelling shakey.
Is it possible to slurr text?
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