Life to me is dead,
And all my heartless pain,
Is swarming in my placid head.
There is nothing more that I can feel,
But what I touch in my mind can't be real.
Life is all but dead,
But on this raw path I go again,
Wandering with legs of lead.
To a distant land of sanctity I shall go,
Beside the rush of a wild river flow.
Life is dead.
Am I truly sane?
When all my soul can do is bleed,
With sinews of fire and veins of ice,
Constricted by all this gutless vice.