Standards

Maybe you were held in too high of standards
But bikinis, short skirts, and leggings are getting old
Maybe I’m a waste of vocal chords and silhouettes
Feeling like a ghost I’m just sick of the cold
So pack your belonging and forget your standards and your clothes
All I have is a pen and some ink
But you are all alone and your dark side shows
Among the wreck of insecurities and a choir full of teens
I’m sick of the cold
I’m sick of the wet
And I’m sick of these standards
Walking in the night you were looking rather nervous
Held tight to my arm and whispered «Luke I’m scared»
There are wolves inside the street hiding their sins in the darkness
They’re terrible fiends eating half broken hearts
and the ghouls inside my head
corrupt the standards I was born with
they haunt all my dreams
and tie my neck to a post
so maybe I’m a waste
of this corpse i’ve made before my death
feeling kind of cold,
I’m just sick of these ghosts
I’m sick of the cold
I’m sick of the wet
And I’m sick of these standards
But I keep having this dream that you get swallowed by a darkness
And the image appears so vividly
«redemption» she prays, it seems so far in the distance
Thats when I realize that the darkness is me
I’m sick of the cold
I’m sick of the wet
And I’m watching more young hearts grow…
And I’m sick of those.