Morning always seems too stale to justify Lament blossoms, hours minutes of our lives Broken thoughts run through your empty mind At least a beaten
Stutter stutter says the little boy I wanna blow a hole in my head I swear what this world wants to hear Trapped in what we know as truth syndrome
Your ritual everyday A mild shower soak in aftershave Best clothes do your best Look in the mirror go on Belittle yourself yourself yourself Belittle