V1
Fifteen scraps of screwed up paper,
Already on my floor.
On which I tried to culminate my anger,
I failed, it intensified more.
Two bottles of wine-one empty, one full
Strewn on my unmade bed.
Representations of escapism and temporary leave,
From the demons who dwell in my head.

Chorus
In no man's land, where the wind is cold,
Where the spirit is exposed and sore.
In wilderness mentality, where misery's mould,
Provokes thoughts in abundance, all cutting, all raw.

V2
Ten stubs I like to call my nails,
Make contact with my teeth again.
For hours I'm lost in this ghostly trance,
Reflecting on affliction and pain.
One piano cries out minor moans,
At my fingers' command and will,
Like sirens, they alarm and pierce me
And an ominous air remains still.

Chorus
In no man's land, where the wind is cold,
Where the spirit is exposed and sore.
In wilderness mentality, where misery's mould,
Provokes thoughts in abundance, all cutting, all raw.

Bridge
Sinister pleasures, routine changes,
Distorted reflections, orderly mazes.
Blackened stars glimmer in even blacker eyes,
Mechanical whims and internal cries.

Chorus
In no man's land, where the wind is cold,
Where the spirit is exposed and sore.
In wilderness mentality, where misery's mould,
Provokes thoughts in abundance, all cutting, all raw.

Bridge
Sinister pleasures, routine changes,
Distorted reflections, orderly mazes.
Blackened stars glimmer in even blacker eyes,
Mechanical whims and internal cries.

em xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx