yollster

Tänk att jag aldrig igen behöver se dig i ögonen och låssas tro på tomma och trötta förklaringar bara för att det är lättare så. Tänk att jag aldrig igen behöver känna det välbekanta obehagskänslan i magen när din mobil vibrerar. Tänk att jag aldrig igen behöver undra varför dom ser på oss så konstigt när vi går tillsammans. Aldrig mer undra varför du inte kysser, kramar eller pratar med mig längre. Inga mer sömnlösa nätter och svullna ögon, inte jaga dig nerför trappuppgången mitt i natten och be dig stanna. Aldrig mer klättra upp på din rygg och vägra släppa i ren protest när du är påväg att gå. Och inte bara du. Ingen. Någonsim. Aldrig igen.
Svartsjuk sa du? Nej. Inte nu längre. Någon annan kan få uppleva allt detta nu.
Have fun

På den trasiga mattan bredvid okända skor
Jag fatta allt och ingenting där stod ju du som alltid skulle va min du såg exakt lika påkommen ut som du var men ärligt talat det var skönt med ett dåligt svar

“I was suffering the easily foreseeable consequences. Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story. It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never dared to admit you wanted-an emotional speedball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement. Soon you start craving that intense attention, with a hungry obsession of any junkie. When the drug is witheld, you promptly turn sick, crazy, and depleted (not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but now refuses to pony up the good stuff anymore-- despite the fact that you know he has it hidden somewhere, goddamn it, because he used to give it to you for free). Next stage finds you skinny and shaking in a corner, certain only that you would sell your soul or rob your neighbors just to have 'that thing' even one more time. Meanwhile, the object of your adoration has now become repulsed by you. He looks at you like you're someone he's never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion. The irony is,you can hardly blame him. I mean, check yourself out. You're a pathetic mess,unrecognizable even to your own eyes. So that's it. You have now reached infatuation's final destination-- the complete and merciless devaluation of self."

So if I die rich and famous in the hall of fame
Or in a prison nameless with a ball and chain
Sky high above the clouds and the falling rain
Making love to my woman, hear her call my name
Or banging my head against a brick wall in pain
If the last days of my life I was called insane
It's all love 'cause it's all the same
And if I'd get a new life, nothing at all I'd change

I LOVE BALI

This morning, you wake, a sunray hits your face
Smeared make-up as we lay in the wake of destruction
Hush baby, speak softly, tell me you're awfully sorry
That you pushed me into the coffee table last night
So I can push you off me
Try and touch me so I can scream at you not to touch me
Run out the room and I'll follow you like a lost puppy
Baby, without you, I'm nothing, I'm so lost, hug me
Then tell me how ugly I am, but that you'll always love me
Then after that, show me, in the aftermath of the
Destructive path that we're on, two psychopaths but we
Know that no matter how many knives we put in each other's backs
That we'll have each other's backs, 'cause we're that lucky
Together, we move mountains, let's not make mountains out of molehills
You hit me twice, yeah, but who's countin'
I may have hit you three times, I'm startin' to lose count
But together, we'll live forever, we found the youth fountain
Our love is crazy, we're nuts, but I refused counsellin'
This house is too huge, if you move out I'll burn all two thousand
Square feet of it to the ground, ain't shit you can do about it
With you I'm in my fucking mind, without you, I'm out it


Read more: http://artists.letssingit.com/rihanna-lyrics-love-the-way-you-lie-part-2-feat-eminem-jnnbv1p#ixzz1oLqU0Xg8
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