Idioma Origen:
Withering and as ugly as sin
What's right or wrong
Who am I to tell?
This dreadful sight
This atrophied body
It is me, lying on the ground
Needless flowers of speech
I cannot endure this shape
Needless flowers of speech
But they can't see inside of me
My own mind...
My mind is my prison
I have lost touch with reality
Mental breakdown: the insight, then the fall
And now deadness is ubiquitous
They dissect me without understanding
...Only a disease
Not a human being
Needless flowers of speech
I cannot endure this shape
Needless flowers of speech
But they can't see inside of me
My own mind...
My mind is my prison
I have lost touch with reality
I can resist my inner demons
I drown in the sea of forgiveness
But somehow I die with thirst
My own mind...
My mind is my prison
I have lost touch with reality
My own mind...
My mind is my prison
I have lost touch with reality
Idioma Destino:
Withering and as ugly as sin
What's right or wrong
Who am I to tell?
This dreadful sight
This atrophied body
It is me, lying on the ground
Needless flowers of speech
I cannot endure this shape
Needless flowers of speech
But they can't see inside of me
My own mind...
My mind is my prison
I have lost touch with reality
Mental breakdown: the insight, then the fall
And now deadness is ubiquitous
They dissect me without understanding
...Only a disease
Not a human being
Needless flowers of speech
I cannot endure this shape
Needless flowers of speech
But they can't see inside of me
My own mind...
My mind is my prison
I have lost touch with reality
I can resist my inner demons
I drown in the sea of forgiveness
But somehow I die with thirst
My own mind...
My mind is my prison
I have lost touch with reality
My own mind...
My mind is my prison
I have lost touch with reality