Grave Mistake
Seems I've lost all sense of time as well as my breath and sight
The fear my death is nigh is all I smell, to quell this fright
Is quite impossible. It's got a hold upon my soul so tight
It's like I want to... no, I got to go; though, I don't know what's right
In front of me; even under me, what I'm seeing is nothing because
All I see is darkness, it's hard to breathe in; my lungs, they need
Oxygen; how can this be? It seems logic has left
Damn near preposterous, pondering past tense:
How'd I get here? Where is here? Never will I get a good grip here
Laying flat but cannot sit, weird; seems nothing truly exists here
Especially not the light of day; night or day? I can't call it
It's anybody's guess, I guess; hibernation or coffin?
Last time I checked it, I was next to certain I was human
So I guess the former's out of the question; it's turned into an
All too real living nightmare, thoughts racing; I need analysis
Claustrophobic, all I hope and pray is it's sleep paralysis
Massive hallucination, seemingly I can't escape from
Momentarily I'm stuck, but sooner or later I should wake up
Right? Why stress? Relax your mind
Chest seems to tighten every second, the tension is high
Breath is leaving again; stale air's all that I'm breathing in and
My heart rate's increasing; teeth bleeding from kneading them, when
Any and all attempts to inhale's a struggle or means to an end
Seems that we need to pretend...
Stop! You've not been locked inside of a box
And buried beneath the murky earth immersed in dirt to rot, alright?
Stop! You've not been locked inside of a box
And buried where all the worms emerge from soon to be forgot
Got nothing but intrusive thoughts; suffocation, I'm losing all
The clean air that was left inside wherever I am pressurized
Within; this air is thick, I sense the scent of death; awareness isn't
Everything... wish I could do anything but reminisce
I'm petrified much like the wood I feel surrounding
No chance of breaking through and even then what would amount
If nothing but the rushing down--six feet at least--of muddy ground
An almost instant death as opposed to lying, dying in this dismal mess
A trickling sweat dribbles down my brow, the sound of little wet
Droplets hitting timber sends a shiver; how is this the end?
I pinch my leg, I feel it; I guess it's really real then
Never in my life would I have guessed I'd ever deal with this
Concealed away; soon to be forgot, if not already
Out of sight, out of mind; am I to stop pretending?
And just live in spite of time with the fact I cannot hide?
In truth there's nothing scarier, I'm buried alive
Stop! You've not been locked inside of a box
And buried beneath the murky earth immersed in dirt to rot, alright?
Stop! You've not been locked inside of a box
And buried beneath secluded grounds never to be found
Stop!
The fear my death is nigh is all I smell, to quell this fright
Is quite impossible. It's got a hold upon my soul so tight
It's like I want to... no, I got to go; though, I don't know what's right
In front of me; even under me, what I'm seeing is nothing because
All I see is darkness, it's hard to breathe in; my lungs, they need
Oxygen; how can this be? It seems logic has left
Damn near preposterous, pondering past tense:
How'd I get here? Where is here? Never will I get a good grip here
Laying flat but cannot sit, weird; seems nothing truly exists here
Especially not the light of day; night or day? I can't call it
It's anybody's guess, I guess; hibernation or coffin?
Last time I checked it, I was next to certain I was human
So I guess the former's out of the question; it's turned into an
All too real living nightmare, thoughts racing; I need analysis
Claustrophobic, all I hope and pray is it's sleep paralysis
Massive hallucination, seemingly I can't escape from
Momentarily I'm stuck, but sooner or later I should wake up
Right? Why stress? Relax your mind
Chest seems to tighten every second, the tension is high
Breath is leaving again; stale air's all that I'm breathing in and
My heart rate's increasing; teeth bleeding from kneading them, when
Any and all attempts to inhale's a struggle or means to an end
Seems that we need to pretend...
Stop! You've not been locked inside of a box
And buried beneath the murky earth immersed in dirt to rot, alright?
Stop! You've not been locked inside of a box
And buried where all the worms emerge from soon to be forgot
Got nothing but intrusive thoughts; suffocation, I'm losing all
The clean air that was left inside wherever I am pressurized
Within; this air is thick, I sense the scent of death; awareness isn't
Everything... wish I could do anything but reminisce
I'm petrified much like the wood I feel surrounding
No chance of breaking through and even then what would amount
If nothing but the rushing down--six feet at least--of muddy ground
An almost instant death as opposed to lying, dying in this dismal mess
A trickling sweat dribbles down my brow, the sound of little wet
Droplets hitting timber sends a shiver; how is this the end?
I pinch my leg, I feel it; I guess it's really real then
Never in my life would I have guessed I'd ever deal with this
Concealed away; soon to be forgot, if not already
Out of sight, out of mind; am I to stop pretending?
And just live in spite of time with the fact I cannot hide?
In truth there's nothing scarier, I'm buried alive
Stop! You've not been locked inside of a box
And buried beneath the murky earth immersed in dirt to rot, alright?
Stop! You've not been locked inside of a box
And buried beneath secluded grounds never to be found
Stop!