My mind is a graveyard for unpursued ideas My heart is a bonfire for burnt and fallen dreams The pessimist, misanthropist, a troubled kid in cynic's bliss Everyday another trial The bed I made to contemplate, the paths I let deteriorate The wishful thoughts I oft negate, now seldom wade through my self-hate We make our beds to burn in, and so few of us pull through I am the beast of my own burden, and my knees are giving in A self-inflicted wound of spirit The book I never wrote, cause the story had been told My eyes follow the pen, I tell it all again So give me your pity, your guilt and remorse I'll shoot them all down, and still ask for more The bed I made to contemplate, the paths I let deteriorate The wishful thoughts I oft negate, now seldom wade through my self-hateTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
