They predicted it all to come true
and I see it flash in front of my eyes:
I don't want it to come true,
but I'm dying inside.
I need some drugs, anything
to come and save me.
I don't want the prophecies to come true,
I'm no s--t, no prostitute,
no shit-slave of the world to be used up.
What do I do to rush me,
f--k you, darlz. Where are you?
Come save me,
ravage me.
I'm waiting;
I've been waiting for a thousand lives
just for your single breath on me.
I'm dying sweetheart,
come save me. Please.
I don't know what to do -
I spend every evening
flirting with all of my girlfriends,
to an extent where one's parents thought it all to be true
even though they knew me to be married.
What do I do with these boys
showering their attention on me -
you can't get me high,
so at least get your Mercedes and take me
to all those places where I want to be.
I want to forget everything.
Perhaps I should just choose easy death
and lay down there.
