| An envision of atrophy, vacant daydreams
|
| There’s nothing to see
|
| This will be the death of me
|
| I fall apart at the seams, so fragile it seems
|
| There’s nothing to see
|
| I will be the death of me
|
| All my life dissected no direction
|
| Cut the wounds and swim through the infection
|
| Living life upon my back, I twist, I turn, I relapse
|
| Isochronic environment where quiet is violent
|
| The silence is deafening, can’t hide it
|
| Too little, too late
|
| Ashamed from the cradle to the grave
|
| Too much, too soon
|
| Sit back chokin' up on my silver spoon
|
| All my life dissected no direction
|
| Cut the wounds and swim through the infection
|
| Living life upon my back, I twist, I turn, I relapse
|
| Isochronic environment where quiet is violent
|
| The silence is deafening, can’t hide it
|
| Too little, too late
|
| Ashamed from the cradle to the grave
|
| Too much, too soon
|
| Sit back chokin' up on my silver spoon
|
| No fucking end to this misery but the grave
|
| Still singing my Melancholy melody
|
| Down the barrel of a loaded gun
|
| «Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on»
|
| My violence |