Open Up Your Eyes

defectiveminds:

Well we came here for the weekend
It was your friend’s idea
It started as just a few of us
Now everybody’s here
You took my hand and told me Dan
“I’m not really one for crowds”
And you took off out the window
As fast a legs allowed
I thought if we just slowed down
We might start making sense

If I walk away
Then who’s gonna carry your home
If I walk away
Then who’s gonna carry your home

Well we may have had a bit too much
But no one has to know
But if I walk away
Then who’s gonna carry you home
Oh, carry you home

So you shivered under covers
In the tail end of the summer
A certain sick, no medicine could tame
And we were just kids
That’s the hardest part
The things we build
Just to rip them apart
Oh you ripped me apart
I thought if we just slowed down
We might start making sense

ambedo n. a kind of melacholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—which leads to a dawning awareness of the haunting fragility of life, a mood whose only known cure is the vuvuzela.”

– (via niet-zsche)

my-killz:

The whole world has been against her. She’s become more of a punch line than a celebrity. Instead of celebrating with Lindsay about the small victories as you should with any type of addict (my step father was an alcoholic for 10 years) people have joked about how she can’t do it. I would cry too if someone finally told me to celebrate after spending so long being a joke.

The Beatles // Happiness Is A Warm Gun

She’s not a girl who misses much
Do do do do do do do do, oh yeah
She’s well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane
The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors
On his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy
Working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate
And donated to the National Trust