You tread on me
You walk on my memories
But I don't feel a thing
And I can't
All these voices in my head
They have no occupants
A constant reminder that maybe it's all I am
But when it's said and done
We're overrun by those thoughts and remnants that we all keep inside
That we all keep inside of us
And Heaven, if you hear me
Can I sell my soul, for streets of gold?
I know I'm not ready to go
We coincide, with what's inside
To keep at bay, all those lies
And I can feel my heart is slipping
Out of my chest
And Heaven, if you hear me
Can I sell my soul, for streets of gold?
I know I'm not ready to go
I can't feel the sun on my skin
I'm downtrodden, beaten, worn thin
