These are the wrong kind of thoughts to be thinking about myself
And the wrong sort of reasons to be asking for help
They're all the wrong dreams, but what can I do
When the war inside my head is fought to forget you
But it's my heart that is winning, so my face begins to cry
It's my own selfish thoughts that cause me to lie
Starting a fire in my soul as it is burning my insides
The flames are so great that they feel cold to the touch
As my own suicidal thoughts begin to weigh to much
The only source of coping has been eaten a way
As my only source of comfort is to sleep and dream all day
But even the sweetest dream comes to a premature end
And I wake up to the nightmare that is my life or so I pretend
Every thought I think is empty and the cup is not half full
For I have spilled the cup that was once filled with dreams and what is left is just too small
