Dead from Mercurial by Cachalot

Tired of explaining every time it bursts out
Scars form a row as memories pile up
Every hit revives a wound from before
Forget today to remember tomorrow

The more I hurt myself, the more I hate myself, I use my instincts
As a weapon, against myself
Held firmly in hand, and pressed up, against my head
If these thoughts could kill, I'd be long dead

This fire in the veins, begging to get out
This rage in the throat, in the shape of a cry
Grinding teeth, trying to keep it all in
And still those dead eyes, this lack of understanding

The more I hurt myself, the more I hate myself, I use my instincts
As a weapon, against myself
Held firmly in hand, and pressed up, against my head
If these thoughts could kill, I'd be long dead

• Metal
• post-metal
• post-rock
• progressive
• shoegaze
• sludge
• Caen