Текст: Papa Roach. 829.

I am scared. Pray. Because. I think I'm scared of myself. My problems and faults. They lay upon a shelf. Bring it out with the shroom. I'm paranoid laying crouched in a room. I will push. Ing away from a love that is close to me. I'll go away. I need to be stable like my buddy with grey bell. Called up my mom cause I know she was strong. Talked about Jesus, my daddy, and bongs. Aside from the world that I know. People and whatnot and girls that do blow. Brought back to childhood. Not close to feeling good. Go away...