| In the harsh morning sun
|
| The blinds of my eyes
|
| Let light leak and signal for me to be waking
|
| And the hammer of my head
|
| Rings out it’s destruction
|
| With a sign that reads: «This young man is rapidly aging»
|
| And the clock upon my wall
|
| Is an hour slow
|
| But what difference does it make when all I do with my time is waste it?
|
| And I sent my baby home
|
| Never to return
|
| I hope she knows one day I did it to try to protect her
|
| Cuz the summer came on with no warning
|
| And the scene was altered like pulling a weapon
|
| Death is a six letter word, the first letter is silent
|
| And where I’m at is starting to get pretty quiet
|
| And the afternoon drags on
|
| Like a traitor tied to a horse
|
| But what I fear most is the oncoming evening
|
| Cuz I wake up with the dawn and work til I can’t no more
|
| And with nightfall
|
| I have to face my own reflection
|
| And I say:
|
| «who is this man? |
| what has he done?
|
| And what’s the point of trying to avoid the poison?»
|
| I want to forget it all
|
| Sweet oblivion
|
| Take me like you did last night and will do the next one
|
| Cuz the summer came on with no warning
|
| And the scene was altered like pulling a weapon
|
| Death is a six letter word, the first letter is silent
|
| And where I’m at is starting to get pretty quiet
|
| Cuz the summer came on with no warning
|
| And the scene was altered like pulling a weapon
|
| Death is a six letter word, the first letter is silent
|
| And where I’m at is starting to get pretty quiet
|
| Where I’m at is starting to get pretty quiet
|
| Where I’m at is starting to get pretty |