Sick
this is nothing differentthan everything that we have done
i don't feel like explaining
or talking to everyone
slide away into the past your coming
and than you'lllast and nothing else is
that's just a part of the truth
forcing me to do those things
that no one can, i can think
you are nothing
that's just a part of the truth
we are not that different,
than everything and everyone
and the curse of the sickness
will capture every mothers son
blackened doors inside my head
are spinning around until i'm dead
but after singing i've got nothing to say
(it's a compromise)
49 and 62 are the only numbers i can do
everything that comes in thats the same
its a compromise
its a sacrifice
