there's nohing left for me to do, just like time and time and time again
what elce is left for me to prove?
but when it comes around i can't help falling down

is this the state of so called pleasure?
or just the weight of stones and feathers
i'm not myself maybe i'm never

just like a tear that fades away
just like a word i can't express or can't explain
a thousand voices in my brain
i wish they'd comfort me,
insted it's torturing

is this the state of so called pleasure?
or just the way i'm made to measure
i'm not myself maybe i'm never

when all is said and done i confess i've had enough
is this the state of so called pleasure?
or just a chill that lasts forever
i'm not my self maybe i'm never
is this the state of so called pleasure, or just a break in heavy weather?
i'm mot myself maybe i'm never