Someone once said:
“We’re better off dead.”
Machines we all work,
Not to get fed.
I sold my soul for a piece of that bread.
Foaming from the mouth with the words as they spread.
‘Cause choking on something is better than nothing.
I chase down my poison with sugar and treason.
‘Cause hoping is for fairy tales and fairy tales don't happen.
Wishing in one hand while the other gets strucken.
Poor old me.
The things that keep me up at night.
Poor old me.
The monsters I just cannot hide.
Poor old me.
The things that keep me up at night.
The monsters inside.
The monsters I wanna hide.
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