Caesar

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Terapin

Terrapins are one of several species of small turtle (order Testudines) living in fresh or brackish water. Terrapins do not form a taxonomic unit and may not be closely related. Many belong to the families Geoemydidae and Emydidae. The name "terrapin" is derived from torope, a word in an Algonquian language that referred to the species Malaclemys terrapin (the Diamondback terrapin). It appears that the term became part of common usage during the colonial era of North America and was carried back to Great Britain. Since then, it has been used in common names for testudines in the English language. more »

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In the lonely hours
I will build my towers
I sit all alone
Atop an empty throne
In the crowded night
I can't tell what's right
Give me something real
Something I can feel
Bring my fortress down
Burn it to the ground
I'll watch till the end
Egos never mend
If you know me, don't console me
I've no reason, for my treason
Overcompensate
Don't co-operate
Jealous purpose, zealous surface
All in aid of pointless surplus
Bring up twenty knives
They wont cut through the lies
Too much to unpack
I've lost sight of the tracks
What more can I say
I'm lonely every day
Broken head and hands
No-one understands
I can't breathe like this
Trapped in tortured bliss
Watching from afar
I cant quite reach the bar
When we try to speak
I'm always oblique
She's my safest harbour
But you have pierced my armour
How could I predict you
Brutus to my Caesar
If you know me, don't console me
I've no reason, for my treason
Overcompensate
Don't co-operate
Jealous purpose, zealous surface
All in aid of pointless surplus
Bring up twenty knives
They wont cut through the lies
I'm a blessed fracture
My grief is manufactured
I can feel your heart
So close but yet so far
I'm a mess of colours
The sum of all my summers
Rip me from the sky
Sentence me to die
A choice to to kill or nurture
And I will never hurt you
If you know me, don't console me
I've no reason, for my treason
Overcompensate
Don't co-operate
Jealous purpose, zealous surface
All in aid of pointless surplus
Bring up twenty knives
They wont cut through the lies
I'm a mess of colours
The sum of all my summers

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