The years slip from you like breadcrumbs tossed in the trash
They pile up on the heaps of broken dreams
You look back and think:
Why did I sell myself –
So cheap?
The nights you have left are numbered
Your life is a burned-out stub in a whirling ashtray
You look back and think:
Why did I sell myself –
As your ashes hit your coffin, no one recalls who you were
Nothing is as banal as a life about to end
You didn't stick to your guns enough for anyone to care to remember you
What comes next is the pit of black night and eternal misery in bottomless oblivion
I hide beneath a sheet
That the cold has covered
The night stares silently
It tells tall tales
The void is approaching
Barelegged, I fight back
I make my dying bed
I make my dying bed
The years slipped from you like breadcrumbs strewn into the trash
They piled up on the heaps of broken dreams
How often did you look back and think:
Why did I sell myself –
So cheap?