There's someone on top of you fuccking
Chuck me or I'm stuck here
Every sixth month it seems
My mind goes over matter
I'll soon go
I'll be lost in the thoughts of tomorrow
And my warm heart, it will soon go home
And I won't be cold
I'll soon go
You admit, you admit
It's worse this way, it's worse with me
Work with my shit
Would you rather work elsewhere?
You'll soon go
You'll be lost in the clutch of tomorrow
Your warm heart will have long grown cold
You won't be old
You'll soon go
I check for a death beneath my bed at night
I'm not scared of dying
I'm afraid I've lost my life
Soon go
We're still lost in the thoughts of tomorrow
No warm heart will soon go home
So I think, therefore
We'll soon go