Can't control. My hands and feet. Conditioned to be a human machine. Can't control. My thoughts and needs. Memories erased.... My brain won't work. Without that chip - inside my head.
Don't believe all that you see. 'Cause it can never be. Truth could be there in disguise. So never trust your eyes. Wandering aimless through time. Wondering what I will find.
Light years of hurting. and lifetimes of pain. feelings that haunt you with sorrow. You pushed the limits. by breaking away. we are deciples to follow.
me..... all I wanted in my life was 2 be seen. it was all or nothing. nothing inbetween. I had to proove myself. stronger than my needs. . In time. when I was giving up the fight 2 carry on.
Even the eyes of god must turn. Away from your pathetic prayer. Boy, lift yourself up. Man, stand the fuck up. . Come set the world on fire, it burns.
You fill me up. With poisoned love. You fill my soul. With sins, but I have learnt to grow. . And now, too many lies. Too many cries. They are as long as the infinity.
I quit smoking come July.. Sun was too strong in my lungs.. Fog like sea foam in the night.. Headlights safely took me home.. . Bodies steaming up the windows..
Disreguard what we know. Well your voice is so low. Will I stay. Will I go this evening. See the light on the rail. Reflect red off the tail lights. In front of us..
Setting up Sunday. Watching the winter grow so, oh, no. Oh, making excuses for insecurities. It's not about me, oh, it's never about me. . Now, I can't go on.
There are times when I'm feeling like I've lost all control.. And I'm talking 'bout a year or more.. And I remember when I was a kid and it was simple..
Pray for them. I often loose track. So I took a drag. of my first cigarrette. and I found my head. Roll down the dumps. of twenty seventh street. . I drew a sketch.
Pray for them. I often lose track. So I took a drag. On my first cigarette. And I found my head. Roll down the dumps. Of 27th Street. . I drew a sketch.
Pray for them. I often loose track. So I took a drag. of my first cigarrette. and I found my head. Roll down the dumps. of twenty seventh street. . I drew a sketch.
When we're comfortable and we're all grown up. When it's all said and done will you still love me?. When those younger girls are more beautiful. And I'm old but I'm still trying will you still love me?.
Strictly Mr. Thompson goes to work everyday. Except Saturdays, Sundays, and national holidays. He leaves at three. He used to leave at four. But the commute over the Altamont.
I'm being hopelessly optimisticyou're an honest crook. The poor reputation your love gets should make you look. It gets pretty ugly. I'm clearly misunderstood.
You call you call. The tvs up the lights are on. You say you say. I miss you how work was today. Youre gone youre gone. Some corporate thing away from home.