Je suis moi, si pertinent que cela puisse paraître, je ne changerai pour qui que ce soit, ni la vie, ni la mort me convertira.

The dreams still come and go

Lying wounded on a beach

With shrapnel in my leg

My only weapon is a knife

And there is this golden fluid

A bag full of tiny bottles

It's a promise for relief

The key for my survival

So I feel, yes I feel the need

To lock myself up in a room

Squirt some morphine into my veins

To leave this cruel world for a while

And when I close my eyes

I find myself somewhere else

In a world built on illusions

Where compulsions are expelled

Out of a need I had to use it

Although I never thought I would

And before I was aware

This need was present every day

A golden mirror for my soul

Will be injected through a syringe

Slowly creeping up my vein

To hit the center of myself