The Dreams Still Come And Go

Lying Wounded On A Beach

With Shrapnel In My Leg

My Only Weapon Is A Knife



And There Is This Golden Fluid

A Bag Full Of Tiny Bottles

It's A Promise For Relief

The Key For My Survival



So I Feel, Yes I Feel The Need

To Lock Myself Up In A Room

Squirt Some Morphine Into My Veins

To Leave This Cruel World For A While



And When I Close My Eyes

I Find Myself Somewhere Else

In A World Built On Illusions

Where Compulsions Are Expelled



Out Of A Need I Had To Use It

Although I Never Thought I Would

And Before I Was Aware

This Need Was Present Every Day



A Golden Mirror For My Soul

Will Be Injected Through A Syringe

Slowly Creeping Up My Vein

To Hit The Center Of Myself