Yes, I light the last cigarette and throws the package. I am tired of life, I'm tired of this game. My head exploded and I cry while my soul is hung. I went halfway, but I do not dare anymore.
I feel worse and I do not feel good. Mit psyche fuckas up of all the empty fucking answer. I sit in the studio alone with beats, ettuppslitet heart, just want away from the crap. Find something that makes me calm and stable, find something in my dream world that suits my style. Something that is completely tight with my profile. I have a wonderful guy friend, but where do I find the one that calms my mind, which can soothe the psychic doing so amazingly evil. Something is missing and MIT heart feels half empty. I sit and think, what have I done, what have I done? ... And you're right, my brother.
Oh, hell.
I do not want more. But all the evil has been well-nets in the end, it feels like God put my pain as cast. I just find my writing pad I wrote when I was nine, my parents, I spit. I can not understand everything that was, ten years, and it must be great. The tears I shed now can build a river. I feel sick lousy, it's not what I want, I do not remember this one more time. All the anxiety and pain, it explodes and heats. I'm not like you, I'm not like them most of the Crimea. Abuse, I upplvet the most part. Ex number of years, I got to know of something that not many get. Between them go, I fall, you stand. I vomit, you smile, hell, I can not take more.

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