The Sickness

Every morning, the smell of opium fills the air
We are nothing but roaches, that follow Gregors steps
Every morning, I'm fed with the same fodder as yesterday
Painkillers for my conciusness, silencing the screams in my head

Every morning, the horrible of sound of paper talking
The sickening smell of plastic burning, melting brains
Nothing but dolls sitting on a shelf

Cause every morning, I feel I'm worth less



Credits
Writer(s): Unai Rubio
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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