| I don’t know how to deal with you
|
| When I finally get confused
|
| In a maze of dead ends at the point of no return
|
| Tattooed in my memories
|
| I’ve learned to understand what it means
|
| To follow your traces to balance out what you’ve found
|
| There are people who are living
|
| In great disorder
|
| Screaming colors, manic black
|
| And minor chords
|
| Home in empty places
|
| Focused on passion and mood that bears on
|
| Buried on the inside
|
| I’m holding on
|
| Every day’s a battlefield
|
| I soldier on
|
| When calling is no longer a call to
|
| Be honest with yourself — re-new
|
| As imagination leaves the house, it shuts the door
|
| I’m sorry for my burden that I place on your life
|
| Sorry that I’ve always been late at night
|
| In a billion ways you feel better when i feel bad
|
| So I soldier on
|
| Buried on the inside
|
| I’m holding on
|
| Every day’s a battlefield
|
| I soldier on
|
| Uncovering the inside
|
| Keeps me going on
|
| Hope is for the weary
|
| Or those who’ve given up
|
| Here’s a man with his fingers on the frets
|
| With rage in his blood, bursting vocal cords on
|
| The ignorance of mankind, on the truth
|
| Buried on the inside
|
| I’m holding on
|
| Every day’s a battlefield
|
| I soldier on
|
| Uncovering the dark side
|
| Drives me on
|
| Until I find my inner peace
|
| No remedy left untried to let this storm be gone |