*ugly crying*

via kellysue:

Fred McFeely Rogers (March 20, 1928 – February 27, 2003)

I might be a soft touch, but this actually made me cry. 

(Source: lemonyandbeatrice, via punkstaypunk)

My new sounds:

I mean, I like her.


ANNOUNCEMENT: Taking Panic! At The Disco out with us on the Save Rock and Roll Arena Tour

9/5 - Uncasville, CT @ Mohegan Sun - (Tickets)
9/6 - Lowell, MA @ Tsongas Arena - (Tickets)
9/7 - Brooklyn, NY @ Barclays Center - (Tickets)
9/8 - Philadelphia, PA @ Liacouras Center - (Tickets)
9/10 - Fairfax, VA @ Patriot Center - (Tickets)
9/11 - Cleveland, OH @ Wolstein Center - (Tickets)
9/14 - Auburn Hills, MI @ Palace of Auburn Hills - (Tickets)
9/15 - Toronto, ON @ Echo Beach at Molson Canadian Amphitheatre (Tickets)
9/18 - Broomfield, CO @ First Bank Center - (Tickets)
9/20 - Anaheim, CA @ Honda Center - (Tickets)
9/21 - San Francisco, CA @ America’s Cup Pavilion - (Tickets)
9/22 - San Diego, CA @ Valley View Casino Center - (Tickets)
9/25 - The Woodlands, TX @ Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion - (Tickets)
9/26 - Grand Prairie, TX @ Verizon Theatre at Grand Prarie - (Tickets)
9/28 - Alpharetta, GA @ Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre at Encore - (Tickets)
9/29 - Tampa, FL @ USF Sun Dome - (Tickets)

Save Rock and Roll out now - download on iTunes 


Cape Farewell

So, a little background before the actual text; Cape Farewell is a real place in Greenland, Port Burwell is a place in Canada, and these are some lyrics I’m trying to use for a power ballad I’ve written.

P.S. I know they’re kinda cheesy, bear with me. :D

This is Cape Farewell,
My own personal hell,
I don’t wanna sail away again,
Not again.

These are my own dreams,
And it seems,
They will sail away again,
Not again.

Cause when I hold my head,
Up from my bed,
All of these dreams come flooding back again,
I pretend.

These are my last thoughts,
About tight knots,
But something snaps me back again,
A friend.

This is Cape Farewell,
And I hear a bell,
It’s calling us up and away,


Frozen frost like shards of glass,
The memories of a painful past,
Here is the release of one’s soul,
Trying to meet its only goal,

To control our minds, or rather, our mess,
Because although we try our best,
Thoughts like icy shards pierce our minds,
Always making sure to redefine what confines,
Our feelings.

But you’re afraid,
To see these monsters that’ve made,
Their mark on your soul like a scar on your skin,
Something akin, to blacks and blues,
And all sorts of hues,
Of pain and rejection,
Welcome to life’s great intersection,
Where blinding lights wiz by in the artificial sky,
Why can’t we go back to the way it used to be?
Because, maybe, It’s just too hard to try,

Or because we’d have to let ourselves see,
The destruction we’ve come to love,
Where those frozen shards,
Would play out like broken cards.

Broken cards,
A losing hand,
These failures are not in demand,
So please don’t wake me up before we crash,
So I can dream about this past,
That I made up in my head,
A kindly reminder that dead-men tell no tales,
But that’s because they should never have to.

So I’ll toss this card game out the window,
As we drive down the highway,
When it turns out I’m all alone.
So I’ll let the car drive itself,
And soar into the sky,
Only about as high,
As I’d like to believe.

But sometimes I wonder if these broken cards,
Like frozen shards,
Would cut through this pain in my dying chest,
But, at best,
They would only help put me to rest.