Оригинален текст
The self-inflicted state of mind
A one-man struggle beneath the tower
I think the clock still exists
god just forgot to tap my shoulder
I woke up today
I wish I felt something
The odour of my apathy
just might be true
I wan't to be the things I see
The pilgrim that is me
But I know I ain't that free
The suburban, that is me
Spirits rise and miss the eye
Covered by the stench of judgement
As gods reflection tests my pride
I serve the failure that's haunting me
Twisted visions toturing
Who claims to be the one?
That filtered smile
just might be true
"On half-speed, tonight I suffer
Satisfaction brings the unheeded"
Can you hear the message,
as I wrestle with the clouds?
I'm on the way to succumb,
It just might be true