Laying here thinking about how my life doesn’t really matter in the big scene of things

Thinking about how my lungs breathe and what if they seized not by enemies but by the strings I've brought and tied them taught.

To god i’m a second thought...

I’m not happy, but I try...

I'm in love with my hands, addicted to their feeling on my skin. It keeps me from trying… again and again. I play with this organ, afterwards I cry and think about the times. I felt happy and alive, but today I wanna die. ya today i wanna die.

I’m not happy but I try...

Is my life a joke? Please tell me why do I feel this way inside.

D.o.a my “friends” arrive, I don't feel alive…

I’m not happy but I try...

Can they tell, do i hide it well?

My mortality is a living hell.

I’m faking it, but god I’m sick no remedy could heal this pit.

Hollow inside I’ve tried to fight....

(How long can I hide this aching inside)

But in the end my demons win...

I hope they let me in…

I wasn’t happy but I tried…

I wasn’t happy but I tried...