Hurt, Destroyed and Torn... There's Nothing Left

Withered weed in a base

Old wooden table

Remembers

The days of fame

Cold is the way

Paying with pain

Like thousands

Of useless coins

That rings in my pocket

Morning rises

And i dream to have ability

To keep my eyes closed

Just when sun stops

Hating all my dark dreams

Withered weeds in a base

I remember those days

When the smell of fresh flowers

Was you hair

Those moments

All to give back

With tears and destruction

Of a flesh

I smell the evening

Feeling cutting through me

As the red light on

The horizon...