He started off with the perfect plan To conform himself using a pad and pen But when it came time to release himself to the world It all crumbled due to lack of modern miracles
This face the one he sees in his mirror It's a portrait of a man, a man with a skeleton figure And a bottle that when put to his lips Sends a kiss he won't miss that will take away all his bliss
Into a fire pit of memories The only difference is that they don't turn to ash Before he bleeds
He turned his back on the morals he was taught And in return his mind was pushed by tragic thoughtsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
