That guy is pointing at me. So can I thrust the point of my knife through him?
I don't get it at all!
(Split personality)
How much of this torn-off "me" Is actually me, I wonder? Is this cut-off skin breathing? I inhale this scattered fog of thought And the cut-up wreckage still continues to breathe
They've decided so since ancient times Psychos can just go die
I don't get it at all!
My spat-out words, all of them, seem cheap-looking I just want to know of an even more real sensation In ruined apartment 102, I am knocked over And my scraped mouth tastes of iron
In the New World, let's meet again My head's been bugged The future I'd grasped, that future, seemed maddening, yet beautiful
Surely, before we even realize it, we'll be accepted Will the thousands of light be blown out? If even those ethics of succession and joining together is lost, will you be able to, this simply, share a kiss with a savage tribe?
It's lonely, It's painful Terribly warped Please look at this me!
I face towards the furthest ends And begin to walk