There's a
walk-in
dungeon in my head.
I go there to talk.

To the demons at my door,
the once I would implore.
But I just go to talk.

And I ask them how I
know them so well
yet so little about myself.
They say;
"Son look around you,
the flames they surround you,
you've been going through hell."

GUITAR CHORUS

A day,
or two,
running through my mind.
They said the pain would fade in time.
I should'a know that they were lying.
I should have know they were...

My friends, they're there, I know they care,
but through the pain I still compare,
their human flaws with the abuse
of a world that I once knew.