Tekst
The man
On my face
Is dead
His face
Is not mine
I see my dreams defiled
The black in the grey
The empty half of the cup
The window's covered by smog
The lens are broken
The microwave door closed
Nothing good is getting through to me
The glass is bulletproof
That means that nothing good
Is getting through to me
The man
On my face
Is dead
His face
Is not mine
I see my dreams defiled
The black in the grey
The empty half of the cup