I don't think you will ever know,
How inside you this disease can grow
and blow up in all different proportions
Whilst leaving millions of fucked up distortions,
Abstracting your mind in all different ways,
Leaving the marks of wasted emotional displays,
Every thought you have and hold,
Reminds and reflects on lies you've told,
Or older ladies for money to screw,
Hey! I was young-what to do?
One day ill make amends for all that crap,
But until the my conscience won't be a trap,
I won't let it dominate my every step of the way,
Cause ill sort it out-some day.
Until then I won't make the same mistake,
And be more careful in what activities I partake.
So why am I moaning and going on
And where does this sudden conscience blast come from?
I dunno, I dunno, I dunno-don't care,
But maybe I could or should beware,
Or just pretend not to give a fuck,
Cause tomorrow once again ill have better luck-
Or let me rephrase my good luck will return,
And forget about the fact that for all my sins I will burn...
Was it a huntsman or a player
That made you pay the cost
That now assumes relaxed positions
And prostitutes your loss?
Were you tortured by your own thirst
In those pleasures that you seek
That made you Tom the curious
That makes you James the weak?
Crucify your mind-Rodriguez