There are too many secrets
surging through me
surging through me
and they're not all mine.
There's not enough room for them
and they know that.
It's too cold
(but they don't think so)
and I feed them well.
And I watch them devour
the death that despises me.
There are too many of them hovering
over me when I sleep.
And the voices sound like mine.
But the terrors from Hell aren't mine.
And my screams don't even curdle their blood,
they entertain them.
Sometimes I am obscene, and it's
all just entertainment.
But when I attack them in the name of God
I'd like back all the things
I don't deserve, please.
And they whisper lies to me at night.
And they ridicule me at night.
And I need to stay awake.
Oh, Dear Jesus may the
scales of lies be shed from my eyes
that believed them.
The slick and sly and skilled disguise
will not be soon forgotten.
Fight, fight fight fight.
Fight fight fight fight fight. Fight.
Fight fight. Bleed. Fight bleed.
No sleep.
It's won.
And isn't this all so convenient
to have another thing to blame but myself.
"Sounds like a personal problem."
You're right.
Good night, darkest night.
wenn er fällt, dann schreit er,
fällt er in den Teich,
find't ihn keinter gleich.
Hoppe hoppe Reiter
wenn er fällt, dann schreit er,
fällt er in den Graben,
fressen ihn die Raben.
Hoppe hoppe Reiter
wenn er fällt, dann schreit er,
fällt er in den Sumpf,
dann macht der Reiter... Plumps!
