I got so many demons
And they have nowhere to go
I have so many questions
And things I just don't know
I'm sick of depression
Sick of questions
Sick of breathing the same air
Who's talking? Hell, me or Heaven?
Let the world turn to ash
Let the stars fall from the sky
Let the end of it all come
What use am I?
I'm sick to death of watching the clock
Hearing what you have, what you think and what you want
Nothing, it's all nothing, nothing is what we have got
And I am all things you are not
I can't find you at the bottom of a bottle
Or myself at the end of a crack pipe
Nor will I find answers
On the sharp edge of a knife
You have memories
And I want to forget
I want to live for once
Without regret
I'm the marred old stump of an oak
The rings of age for all to see
The leaves have long since fallen
Each a miserable memory
The floor covered, all around me
With dead things, dead parts of me
Surrounded by the decay of time
Tomorrow is another broken dream