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quid & tombombgrenade - grave mistake كلمات الأغنية

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
d_mn 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 _n_lysis
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; t__th 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!

- quid tombombgrenade

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