I Need White Roses

I wish it were black and white,
But we're painting the roses red.

I keep on telling my self I'm happy.

I'm happy in your arms. 

But I can't deal with the sadness.

I don't like the fact that every time I'm happy I just wait to get to sleep so I can start over.

I just want to start over. 

Off with it's head. If only I could find it.

We're painting the roses red and I can't tell whose blood we're using.

I think it's my own, but then I black out.

Regenerate. Work. Regenerate. Work.

And every now and then I get to be disappointed in the fact that my parents can still tell me what to do.

I miss my old friend.

I don't want to se any of the ones that are actually around.

There's something out there calling my name.

But I'm too fucking busy painting the roses red.

What does that even mean.

I love him.

Is he holding me back?

I should be living. 

I don't think people try to discover just happiness in life.

Their finding what makes them feel alive.

Otherwise we're just decks of cards.

Duplicates all over the world.

Walking.

Breathing.

But our hearts aren't beating.

I fell in a hole a long time ago.

Turned into a soldier like all the rest.

I'm always late.

And I just want to be Alice.

How many people get to be Alice in the world?