He offers you a pardon gift, all wrapped in cellophane.
Then, leaves you here to frolic in the foothills of your brain.
Digging through the rubble, trying to make myself a bed.
Here it goes again, it's time to start the mourning right in my head.
When you wake up from your slumber, and your toughest battle's won. The things you swore you'd never do, are exactly what you've done.
I promised to my mother, not to be like my old man.
But here it goes again, it's time to start the mourning right in my head.
I drink my self to sleep, to take away this curse. You won't be around, cause' I'm making god damn sure.
A lonely suicidal grief, is another perk of love,
as imaginary gods play live charades from up above.
My life is just a prostitute who fucks me 'till I'm dead.
Here we go again, it's time to start the mourning right in my head.