Weak, luck of the weak,
You don't know the pain you speak,
Cradled in your fortunate sleep,
You pull the deepest thorns from the tiniest of wounds,
You've been dealt a good hand but you believe you're on a losing streak.
The morbid ways in which you analyse your life shows your view of your world surrounded by light,
Cynicism, nothing more, nothing less,
Your frame of mind is built on nothing more than bitterness.
Naysayer, depreciator,
You've got a desolate mind living a dreamers life,
Naysayer, depreciator,
You're lying to yourself when you speak your dismal words.
The pain you feel is corrupted and distorted,
You've got the luck of the weak,
Born into life a cut about the rest,
Teaching you the shallow cuts run deep,
You really think you understand what's real but you don't know the truth,
The honest truth is presented in your luck,
You live a false tragedy.
Naysayer, depreciator,
You've got a desolate mind living a dreamers life,
Naysayer, depreciator,
You're lying to yourself when you speak your dismal words.
How do you find your morbid ways?
Why do you live your morbid ways?