where does it come from
this screaming, unfitting lock upon?
that cannot play these games
is happiness just a shell for indolence?
here i sit and smile
when all inside is turning upside down
when all inside is screaming or crying
and does it really matter
(how you look at it)
how honesty prevails amongst the pressure
and unfitting dreams
you keep on hitting yourself against?
it's how you look at it
(where you look at it)
i see just a pile of shit to get rid of
sometimes so tired of trying
of pretty problems
whores in bright light
unwanted children
with nothing worthwhile to say
if i just could listen to you
but the air is so thick of greed
that i could be hitting myself against it forever
just fucking cannot!!!
pretty problems
i cannot play these games
whores in bright light
i cannot play these games
unwanted children
i cannot play these games
the pity, the blame
i cannot play these games
