| 歌曲 | Life Is But a Dream |
| 歌手 | Rozz Williams |
| 专辑 | Whorse's Mouth |
| Broken trachea and the oxygen spirals out of control and far too soon | |
| Sail the seas on empty ships, searching for treasure long lost in centuries of old, eclipsed | |
| No gold can replace friends that turn to demons and decay before our wearied eyes | |
| Yes, I am a prick no disguising my demise, and I'd turn in less than a second to jab out those dark, accusing eyes, not even flinch to end the existence of flowers wilting in the garden | |
| A dead bed of roses at your feet | |
| Walk over the edge | |
| For game, I suppose | |
| So close and yet so far | |
| Away with simple atrocities that benefit only those who turn their backs on life's seasoned indulgences | |
| Wilted time clock arrangements in unproclaimed disarray | |
| Ding dong, the bitch is dead along with the rest of those, oh, so familiar faces, traces of my distaste | |
| For reason still linger | |
| Don't point that arthritic finger at me, you unwholesome clod | |
| I don't run in those clouded areas of green dread | |
| Fierce jaundice and flaking skin, the flesh unwoven and brought to an all time low | |
| This separation wasn't wanted, wasted, but necessity forced its hand | |
| Strangled, newborn tissue on fire | |
| Burn filament outwits the dullard, two-bit, penny annie, gutter snipe | |
| Ripe fruit hangs rotten in this garden of darkly, delighted spite | |
| Trauma center, epi-center do you feel the earth quake? | |
| Time shivers and left over passion falters for a moment in the passive wind blowing over my sensitive skin x out insects | |
| Fate god dammit, I hate you | |
| Everything you stand for, I abhor | |
| Confusion sets in as the night returns in | |
| Dark shadow of repute | |
| Yes, I am to blame for all that's gone wrong in third world abortions | |
| Fuck you all, I'll hide it my way. |
| Broken trachea and the oxygen spirals out of control and far too soon | |
| Sail the seas on empty ships, searching for treasure long lost in centuries of old, eclipsed | |
| No gold can replace friends that turn to demons and decay before our wearied eyes | |
| Yes, I am a prick no disguising my demise, and I' d turn in less than a second to jab out those dark, accusing eyes, not even flinch to end the existence of flowers wilting in the garden | |
| A dead bed of roses at your feet | |
| Walk over the edge | |
| For game, I suppose | |
| So close and yet so far | |
| Away with simple atrocities that benefit only those who turn their backs on life' s seasoned indulgences | |
| Wilted time clock arrangements in unproclaimed disarray | |
| Ding dong, the bitch is dead along with the rest of those, oh, so familiar faces, traces of my distaste | |
| For reason still linger | |
| Don' t point that arthritic finger at me, you unwholesome clod | |
| I don' t run in those clouded areas of green dread | |
| Fierce jaundice and flaking skin, the flesh unwoven and brought to an all time low | |
| This separation wasn' t wanted, wasted, but necessity forced its hand | |
| Strangled, newborn tissue on fire | |
| Burn filament outwits the dullard, twobit, penny annie, gutter snipe | |
| Ripe fruit hangs rotten in this garden of darkly, delighted spite | |
| Trauma center, epicenter do you feel the earth quake? | |
| Time shivers and left over passion falters for a moment in the passive wind blowing over my sensitive skin x out insects | |
| Fate god dammit, I hate you | |
| Everything you stand for, I abhor | |
| Confusion sets in as the night returns in | |
| Dark shadow of repute | |
| Yes, I am to blame for all that' s gone wrong in third world abortions | |
| Fuck you all, I' ll hide it my way. |