What if I say to you That I have a little problem That my soul is empty and insipid Like an average russian watermelon
There's no music There's no shine There's no flood And this problem is mine
I was locked in a chamber Feel like flower's seed Mixed with minced meat Buried at the bottom of planter
What if say to you That I have a little problem That they gave me seven ways of suicide To split my russian watermelon
There's no music There's no sound It's no good Searching way out
I was never addicted To the pleasures of a normal man My will was stolen Admission to my soul's restricted
What if I say to you That I have a little problem That my soul has turned into a garbage Like an average russian watermelon
There's no music There's no shine There's no flood And this problem is mine There's no music There's no sound It's no good Searching way out Room is dead Look around