Rot

Sun hits a dead room
Mind starts a slow bleed
Ghosts pick the lock again
Feed where I can't see

The results of your MRI scans are in!
Well, I don't know how to tell you this, but you don't have schizophrenia

I want a quiet skull
No creaks, no crawl
But calm turns sour fast
Cracks right through the wall

Good days rot quick
Paint peels to truth
Hope sinks like wet rope
Still tied to my youth

Due to the constant use of sleeping pills mixed with gin of dubious quality
You have acquired something we call: The demons of the skull

I want a quiet skull
No creaks, no crawl
But calm turns sour fast
Cracks right through the wall

Silence sounds holy
But it might be a tomb
Better storms and breathing
Than stillness with no room

I want a quiet skull
No creaks, no crawl
But calm turns sour fast
Cracks right through the wall

I want a quiet skull
No creaks, no crawl
But calm turns sour fast
Cracks right through the wall