Thursday, September 06, 2007

The Grudge, by Tool

Chip on my shoulder

Dragging me down, with each drink I have, the void in my eyes getting darker, the voice in the past fading faster: You should have, should have not.

Another glass of bile, a second pouring of scorn, a third and fourth damming of my inability to remember what I did wrong.

Let go
Let go
Let go.

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