Tragedies for Sale - Aborym

There is not much left to hide

I’m wrong about everything

You point the finger at me

I don’t owe you anything

You slam the door in my face

Instead of wondering why

How is it that I feel fine

And I don’t know who to trust

I’m just a ghost in a mass

Not even trying to stand out

Give me enough rope and I

Will hang myself and my lies

I’m just a whisper of smoke

No second chance for a despised

Go and sell some other lies

More futures to advertise

I learnt to write and to read

I learnt to avoid obstacles

To walk the dead-line alone

And to cohabit with pain

No one hears and no one sees

My moves, my hysterical thoughts

What I wrote on my sheets

And what I tried to tell you

My sharp projection on you

Isn’t good as it seems

Wearisome theraphy

To figure out what is real

The fear of loosing control

Annihilates the way out

Too much sex, too much drugs

Broken glasses around

Lusting the vicious white pills

That sent us up to the sky

Struggling hard through the nights

Shuffling fast through the days

I learnt to sell tragedies

To feel guilty and to accept

The tragic consequences

For everything I’ve done