I don’t want to wear no dead man suit

“Well it’s all just a fix, just one little hit; you’re holding in.

Sitting on a plane, chewing Nikorette. Paradise lost, haven’t found it yet.

Will you talk me down if I get upset? Bring your cool wash cloth to my fevered head.

Because I don’t want to dream if it won’t come true.

If it’s something in me, then I guess it’s in you.

If it’s somewhere in me, then I know it’s in you.”

Everyone knows songs can manifest something inside of you, it can provide clarity to your confused head. You just need to calm down, take it slow, and remember that there are hundreds of ways to get through the day — you just have to find one.

As I grew, so did the music. Imitating personalities based on the music I listened to, it created all sorts of experiences for me. It created who I am today, and influences who I will be tomorrow.

I remember listening to sad songs when I felt down, like a sadistic way of torturing myself. But after doing this over, and over — I felt healed. I felt relieved.

Music provoked thoughts I never expected, sometimes it kept the emotions I wanted to let out, do the exact opposite.

The topic of music is very broad, and I’m sure what I type now has already been talked about countless times, yet the significance it holds to me matters to me. I don’t care, and neither do you.