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Is there anything left to say
anything more I could do
that would make you cry
or stop being so like you....
Voices in my head
tell me I should run
hitting against my mind
like the bullets from a gun
So I close my eyes
as my fingers leave your thighs
I turn my head
I feel it start to die
I'll get away from you
but not this time
I'll get away from you
just gotta try
Gotta go, gotta be
whatever I can be
when I am free
of you.
or stop being so like you
Leaving is easy. So is taking a bullet. Both ideas are expressed with style and excellent form. From Detroit: I am Lady A