I can hear your voice loud and clear;
your voice that's whispering in my ear:
'you will never be worth a place
on this Earth, you waste of space'.
I'm always too scared to go out
with the constant fear that you'll shout:
'do it, go jump in front of that car',
your soul as cold and black as the tar.
So I obey my morals and hide in my room
(Satan's temple of my misery and doom).
Constantly oppressed by an omnipresent grief;
my razor blade being my only relief
Another cut upon my wrist,
another life ending with a twist,
I should have thrown that poison away,
but you insisted for my pain to stay.
It's far too late to turn back now,
I can't reverse, I've sworn my vow
that, in exchange for my lifeless soul,
the devil will let me reach my goal.
Staring through the window of the noose,
I see a utopia; a life of use.
I heard your voice one last time,
melodic and blissful, and oh so sublime.
'You're off to a realm six feet deep,
surrounded by darkness in a life of sleep.
Only you are to blame for the reason you fled
for I am your own voice inside your own head.'
