Until The Credits

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Emilia Mars

Emilia Mars is a Scandinavian singer-songwriter known for her soulful and introspective music. Her distinctive vocals and poetic lyrics often explore themes of love, longing, and personal growth. Emilia's music is characterized by a blend of pop, folk, and indie elements, creating a captivating and intimate sound. She has gained a dedicated following for her heartfelt performances and honest storytelling. more »

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She said, "My God, you're almost twenty
And you think you've done it all already
How could you know where you haven't been

Temperance that you've always lacked
But moderation, as a matter of fact, is a virtue

Go on, tell the group one word to describe you
Introduce your name and face, your drug of choice
How you fell from grace and got right back up
Before it was too damn late

Do you hate the glass or do you hate your skin
Which world of yours are you living in tonight
Which device, which route of demise
Will you decide upon this time
And your ego weighs you down, but you're just a fucking kid
Christ, what did you do to think you deserve any of this?

Stop over-reacting, stop thinking of things
Turn your eyes to the LED's
Fight the melatonin with a shot of caffeine
Dream of ending it right here, and having your mother walk in
You wouldn't feel a fucking thing and that'd be the end of it
And there's nothing next, so you'd have no regret's
It'll be like a film where it's black past the credits
And the best dressed at the funeral would be your best friend
Who'd never forget the thing that you said about faking your death when you were kids
Ah but f*ck that, cause you'd be dead and there's nothing next

Just let that unfold, until the credits roll
Is that the plan
Is that the best you have

Temperance that I've always lacked, yes
But moderation, as a matter of fact, is a not virtue
Come on, tell the group one word to describe you
Patronisingly cruel
Oh, but that was two, alright
Immature and stuck in my youth, afraid to see things through
Impulsive, explosive, obsessive-compulsive
What more could I possible admit to

Well, what's the term for a writer who misconstrues her own life
In a desperate attempt to self therapise
Redirects the blame to explain her vice
Her worst mistake in life? Her nihilistic side
And she's always right, but she could never quite
Wrap her mind around mortality despite
Doing the most she can to die in the shortest amount of time

I'll let that unfold until the credits roll
And that's the plan
That's the best I have

Because my God, I'm twenty
Is this the credits now, already
How
Oh no, no, no, no

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