Lyrics:

The self-inflicted state of mind

A one-man struggle beneath the tower

I think the clock still exist

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 judgment

As gods reflection test 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