Met jou patetiese pantomiem teen n God wat jy haat
verkrag jy harte en bevestig sy bestaan.

*** seer voel jou vuiste as jy slaan na die wind?
*** groot voel jou ego met die roem wat jy vind?

Swakelinge swig soos skape voor jou opstand en hype
Jou talent is verduister in verganklike tripe.

Jy is nie die eerste of laaste wat laster,
wat liefde verloor met die haat wat jy koester.

Ons is almal maar net wasems wat verdwyn in die mis
tot verniet gaan ons woede en onheilige twis.

Daar is nog genade terwyl die son skyn
om omkeer te maak van die krakende pyn.

Gjennom språk gjør vi oss forstått
alikevel virker det ikke som vi forstår
vi snakker sammen
bruker språket
later som om vi lytter
mens vi egentlig bare venter
venter på at personen skal bli ferdig
slik at vi selv kan snakke
skape forståelse
uten egentlig å forstå

Maybe I shouldn't be writing so much?
Its just another way to lose my touch.
In the feeling I want BURIED and gone.
To the memories I want KILLED and WRONGED.
I want to remember a void.
An empty play skape where all I did was toy.
With other people SO THEY'D SEE HOW I SUFFER.
Cause I'm tired of being the ONLY ONE.
Who's light hearted, dead inside,
And DEAD BY THE SUN.
Because darling you're the rays of blistering hope that pierce through the skin in my back.
Because darling you don't love me for me.
But how are you supposed to when I don't even know what love is to me?
And at this point I CAN'T tell.
And I CAN'T SMELL
And I can't SEE
Because darling...
There's something wrong with me.
Maybe the doctors missed it?
Or maybe my parents never brought it up?
But I was born without a soul.
Baptized in HELL and blistered when I reached THIS SO CALLED HEAVEN YOU CALL EARTH.
And maybe just maybe.
I should drift off to sleep.