[ name ] Samantha Merrill
[ sex ]Female
[ Straight/gay/bi ] Bi
[ Single? ] Yes
[ Your height ] 5'4
[ The color of your eyes ] Green
[ The color of your hair ] Black
[ What's your job ] I work at dunkin donuts
[ Piercings ] 6 on each ear. eye brow. nose. tongue
[ Tattoos ] no
[ birthday/age ] 17, 18 in May
[ where do you live ] Maine





This song will become the anthem of your underground.
You're two floors down getting high in the back room.
If I flooded out your house, do you think you'd make it out,
or would you burn up before the water filled your lungs?
And at your funeral I will sing the requiem.
I'd offer you my hand but it would hurt too much to watch you die.
And you can bet when we mourn the death of you that night
that they'll lay me on the dinner table and I will be the pig
with the apple in my mouth, the food that celebrates your end.
And at your funeral I will sing the requiem.
I'd offer you my hand, it would hurt too much to watch you die.










So give me all your poison And give me all your pillsAnd give me all your hopeless hearts And make me ill You're running after something That you'll never kill If this is what you want Then fire at will








Your traps are all baited
your scales are all weighted
but not resisting you would surely drive me insane
so im caught and convicted,
my rights are restricted
the imbecile dynasty continues to reign

your apathy of thought
has lead you to believe
that things are what they're not
my friend you've been decieved
the easiest route rarely leads to the truth
i see the self approval glaze your eyes
you know you're right
no need to worry why
a thousand stones remain unturned
in the wake of your unquestioned answers
and truth covered lies

traditions some bear
idly without out a care
but are determined that they stand unchanged
and those who choose to rebel
just to raise up some hell
tell me what are you hoping to gain

i cant reason with you
i speak words you can't hear
social conditioning left you with deafened ears
so i take your face in hand
see that look in your eyes
that rigormortis stare,
that look that i despise
and so i turn from you
i walk these streets alone
alone i search for truth
ideal that you've disowned
and wait with fingers crossed
and pray you'll someday find
a way to see things though your own eyes





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You're not your job You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fuckin' khakis. You're the all-singing all-dancing crap of the world