I feel like my world is dying.
I lay in this bed like I'm crying, no tear is shed, my soul is long dead. Counting minutes, hours and days, I can't help but wish my life away.
In every breath I take, I can hear the criticisms you will make.
Paralyzed with fears, I peel back the layers and years.
Seeing the past, a constant theater of how long the pain can last.
Into My sickness I recede, my fight is over, I concede.