<Mist (BRA)> page <Gottverlassen> album page |
PumpMy days have no sunThis picture tortures me My nights have no relief My blood has no taste I corrupted my veins on insecticide Anchored my sights, my mind, my breath Pump! Pump! Sweat, fear embraces me “Be afraid, my friend!” the TV says My damnation Am I in the heaven or in the devil’s room? I’m leaving the hell of angels now The walls of confidence Falling down with my faith A machine made me a loser My fingers make me a loser There is no table ready for my lunch There is no roof I simply can’t see what’s going on Reality slaps my face every time I try Stand up I have no more will to keep my eyes opened Without my insecticide Run... Run... “Run, brother!” I see the light calling me For me, no hope and no peace I cut my fingers off to get pure And pray for not waking up tomorrow Another day without sun Pump my reality! Pump my reality! Pump! |