Paroles: In Flames. Clayman. Suburban Me.

:
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 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