Slowly rubbing and cutting away
Tearing apart from underneath
Anything that could make me stay
They say that things change
Though I don’t listen when they say
It feels like I’m dying and being reborn
Into another façade
A self-induced reality to believe
Falsified truth for me to regard
They say that things change
Though I don’t listen when they say
It feels like I’m feeling something
Though I don’t listen when I feel
They say that things change
Though what they say is just an ideal
Each time I check the guestbook to find no new messages, a fragment of my motivation dies.
