You sabotaged my catalogue that's clogged with songs, I gave you all my feelings, all my pain through rights and wrongs, and through the steam, it seems you killed my image, available legacy set to be where you can't diminish, but I guess last call comes from all that want a soul, to chase materialistic to crystallize their hold, cold and bold, how it's sold simply it had worked, though still I lurk for the birth of truth and death of Earth.