is it not for our own failings that we mourn the dead? the oppressive sadness and suffering we experience when those we were close to pass from this world to the next, our sadness and suffering as we picture their final moments, their final thoughts, with all their regrets over their failings, the things they never accomplished, the mistakes they made, the opportunities they lost, the relationships they abandoned or that abandoned them, all the things they could have done, all the people they could have met, they could have been close to or stayed close to, a whole list of accomplishments they could have checked as done, travel the world, see the sights, read the classics, make the world a better place, put one's name among those who made a difference, who will be remembered for eternity for the greatness they have achieved in their lifetimes, or at least pass in the knowledge of oneself having achieved that greatness, of having done something, of having been someone. but death came, and it wasn't done, it wasn't achieved and it wasn't accomplished, just that small little life the person lived, just having been around, having been another human among billions. it is then that we picture the dying on the death bed, contemplating all these regrets, this existential anguish of not having lived properly to one's full potential or even nearly that. the misery the dying must have felt in these moments of departing, the overwhelming, crushing helplessness of being able to look back at all these opportunities and having no way to go back in time to make the most of them. but it is not the dying who ever felt this way. it is not the thoughts of the dying that we contemplate, it is our own thoughts that we project onto the dying. it is our own failings and our own anguish over them that we put in the mind of the person who died, when the person who died never had any of these thoughts in these final moments when death came inevitably nearer and nearer. it is scientifically documented that the dying do not feel this regret, this anguish, this misery, that they in fact adopt a feeling of content over the lives they lived, and rightfully so, as every life lived is a life lived successfully, as every life adds to the countless facets of how human life can be lived, adds its own story, and there is no correct or incorrect way to do so. our lives matter for what they add to the whole of human life, no matter how we perceive them during their course, but it is only during the moments of death that we realise that. before these moments, it is the opposite that we perceive, that no life is worth living, especially not our own, and that every life must be an endless chain of regret over missed opportunities and lost chances. this perception during our lifetimes is what we project into the dead when we mourn them, our sadness is not for their passing but for our own that will, without exception, one day follow. the dead did not pass in this misery we feel, and therefore must not be a subject of mourning, as the dead passed content and without regret. the subject of mourning is us, the oppressive sadness and suffering we experience is for us, for our own lives, and the mourning of the dead is in reality just the mourning of ourselves. the dead we mourn is not the person we lost, he or she is the only one among us who isn't lost, it is us, the people who are alive that we have lost. we have lost ourselves and will only find ourselves again when we are in our final moments. let us therefore remember the dead as teachers, teaching us how to appreciate our lives, and therefore not mourn them, as in their final moments they did not mourn themselves as we mourn ourselves our entire lives before these final moments. the dead know the truth, so let us teach them to forget our lies and embrace their truth. we must not remember the dead in mourning, the dead must remind us not to mourn the living.

The days I was bathed in
It looks like 100 needles are shaving your eyes
Both your hands and your heart are flaming garbage
Pretending to be pretty, ruining the trust of the layers

As far as I can see the window sign
The truth seems to match her case
Truth and cordiality are hidden behind the door
Recognizing a liar's pitch would be better than noticing that it was a prostitute

I was holding down the scene, I was kneeling on the floor
Going up and down violently with a man
No excuses, no escape
Jo witnessed the spot
I knew, I felt, I saw the place
I knew it, I knew it really
I feel even my bones, baby
Billion is hurt and damned
Because I was holding down the scene
Arrange the twisted excuses
I'm going to do what I expected
Please read the evil sentence of the reconciliation report and sign it
You've left all of your necessities and my share
Promise me, promise my life will be better
Sooner or later this was going to happen
I was lying with me because of the lie,
After all, you were just relying on gold

Words are spoken around a lie
A hundred needles in the eye
Hands and hearts in a fiery mess
Burning trust while still in the dress

Writing from the window signs
Seems to think that two are combined
Truth and loyalty locked behind a door
Rather be a lying bitch
Than found to be whore

Caught red handed, knees are down
Weapon in hand, going to town
No back story, no where to run
Caught red handed, with a smoking gun
With a smoking gun
With a smoking gun
With a smoking gun

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I knew it
I felt it
I saw it

I scent it
I heard it
I know it

I can feel it down in my bones, baby.
It hurt me
I let it take me down

With a smoking gun
With a smoking gun
With a smoking gun

Twisted and turned all words to say
Whatever it takes to get it to weight
Read the sign _____________
You take yours and I can take mine

Promises, promises, Live will be great
Sign yourself better sooner than late
I am delight pretend to be there
Money hungry, counting my share

Caught red handed, knees are down
Weapon in hand, going to town
No back story, no where to run
Caught red handed, with a smoking gun
With a smoking gun
With a smoking gun
With a smoking gun

I knew it
I felt it
I saw it

I scent it
I heard it
I know it

I can feel it down in your soul, honey.
It hurt me
I let it take me down

With a smoking gun
With a smoking gun
With a smoking gun

I just can't get you out of my head
Don't be the song that I like to think about
Can't get you out of my head
Don't be the song that I like to think about
Ye-heah

I just can't get you out of my head
Don't be the song that I like to think about
Can't get you out of my head
Don't be the song that I like to think about

Every night
Every day
Just have you there in my heart

I just can't get you out of my head
Don't be the song that I like to think about
Can't get you out of my head
Don't be the song that I like to think about
Ye-heah

Right

Every night
Every day
Just have you there in my heart

I just can't get you out of my head
Don't be the song that I like to think about
Can't get you out of my head
Don't be the song that I like to think about
Ye-heah

Every night
Every day
Just have you there in my heart

C'mon

Yeah

Whoooooaaaaa

Whoooooaaaaa