Who give a damn to the phone calls? I just don't feel like picking up, my things are shattered like a puzzle, and worst part is I have two of them mixed up together. Who cares?
I'm depressed.
Who give a damn to the listeners? The talker is talking to the dumb water, idiot tree holes, lousy caves, as the recanting make every syllabus of the words fight back. Who cares?
I'm depressed.
Who give a damn to the truth? As we are blindfolded, we walk on a folk. Three way up, another three way down. Up on sharp, you died a hole; down on slope, you died a silent note. Who cares?
I'm depressed.
Who give a damn to the lie? When the snowballs rolls, we are meant to be dead. One down, because another arise, yet to be drowned down to hell. Who would, if we deja-vu. Who would, if we are not educated that lie save life. Who cares?
I'm depressed.
Who give a damn to the love? When lust the ultimate form of love, it comes before love. Half of heart, half of hurt, we are player, we are saint. It is just a imaginary world. Gossip, cruel-some, betrayal, cheating is all part of the game. Who cares?
I'm depressed.
Who give a damn to the mood? When the music flows through your heart, it leaves mark. Either burn or bliss. I never get to say enough, to be said to you, the music hunted me down on the way chasing pavements. Who cares?
I'm depressed.
Who give a damn to the me? As I is a singular, indication for the loner, presenting one and only one. Great friends are complimentary, true heart to be dig out as bone and meant to be eat by the dogs. Who cares?
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