Masochist

here is. hankering after that sliver of warmth in the cold and seeking that chill in the heat, all in the same sentence. so high and mighty, so made out to be. groveling in the dirt, feeding on what hands lay on, like a scavenger without a thought. the song plays it out so well, a masochist. what a laugh, it obviously seems. all those dreams, like a sheet up in flames, the ashes fly. questions have halted, and now, only statements splashed out in black draws crimson stains.