I've beaten a dead horse,
This record is now an open book,
And, of course,
People want to take a longer look,
And rip the pages out in mass,
I'd raise a glass and have it pass by.
I put my foot down,
The secrets were kept for a reason,
But I can see now,
You only wanted to rip me apart,
And go so far behind my back,
The book right here is no longer intact.
The hungry carnivores have arrived,
To have a final celebration,
Avoiding it will not do the job,
Because I underestimated
The cruelties of the human imagination.
To cut to the chase,
I put my feelings upon the page,
I gave you a taste,
But you rip my tongue right off my face.
That's what I get when I confide,
To grow it back would be suicide.
Burn it all!
Looking back, this was a mistake.
I'm standing tall,
But somehow, you knew that it was fake.
I'm afraid to weaponized,
Again, that's what I get when I confide.
The book has now been turned to ash.
What a shitty situation.
One question you always ask is,
"What are you scared of the most?"
The answer is the human imagination.