| Something inside of me is watching me and waiting
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| And the thing which scares me the most is when I cannot fight anymore
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| I’m hearing speaking the voice of my father, disturbed by fits of abstraction
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| Silences of mind
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| I always do what voices in my head tell me to do
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| «You are no one, a child of naught, you’ll burn in fire. |
| You have to hide
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| Shame of life, mistake of nature, swathe your face, your monstrous features
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| You are condemned !»
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| I always do what voices in my head tell me to do
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| Atered and disfigured, dysmorphophobia
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| The eye fixed, a razor in the hand, determined to comit the worst
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| The cost of the loss, a psychic rebirth
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| Through this path enslaved to my own delirium, delivered by auto-mutilation
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| In front of my reflection so detestable, I tear pieces of my face
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| Again until I will be unrecognizable
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| My acts relieve my mind, I forgivemyself his absence
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| But the voices still present, speaking to me |