Alone and lost; nothing but silhouettes
Endless doubt, persistent search for answer
In ***** floods and buds of cigarettes
To life, solitude is scourge and cancer

I who live where isolation’s culture
I who await the happier morrows
I who live where the people are vultures
I who search for exit from my sorrows

I who have nothing but fears of my sin
I who’ve never felt the joy of a friend
I who have nothing but tears on my skin
I who only have comfort of the end

Nothing but the hope of variation
Nothing but the rope of suffocation