Chain smoking our way,
Through the days,
His hands,
In all the right places,
The world means nothing,
It all means nothing,
Collisions of emptiness,
Just to feel something,
So he puts his hands,
In all the wrong places,
To make it right,
'Til the world means nothing,
We mean nothing

We fall from conciousness,
To emptiness,
Endless circles,
Of confusion,
Trapping and compressing,
Confining us,
We are inconsequential,
To the course,
Of loneliness

Is this,
An honest intention,
Or is doubting justified,
In the moment,
When the world,
Gives way,
From beneath me,
To reveal,
Reality intertwined,
With the mist,
OF fatal reason,
The poison of the mind