Get rid of me, and maybe then I'll find myself,
In this bitter sweet glass of wine on my hand,
My head is swollen with confidences, oblivious of all things impossible,
Hail to the disappearing bubbles in my glass, quite similar to the sparkle gone from my heart,
This poison I drink.
Put out the fire in me, trudge over every dream of mine,
My hopes and my ambitions, who cares?
The past made them pass,
In my hand the smoke of what's left,
Let it burn until the guns run out of bullets,
This poison I smoke.
These winter days bare no weight on me,
For neither the cold nor your touch gives me the shivers,
But I still crave intimacy nonetheless,
So to each his own I give,
And to me no one belongs,
What useless joy I get,
This poison I sleep with.
I'm finally free in fear and despair,
My soul hides nothing but dust from hope long gone,
My face, now a constant billboard of unrealistic emotions,
And my body, a mannequin of wear and tear,
Of this poison I call life.