That nasty frame.
That rusted doorknob.
That scream of terror.
Those needle punctures.

Shoot it up,
Hit it off.
You'll never escape.
It's morbid across.

Will it make me see,
can you make me stop?
Open my eyes,
my soul is locked.

As I drown in flames,
as I burn in water,
I learn my wounds run deep.
Sir, are you my father?

When I die,
I will not rot.
I will crumble,
under the years of pressure I've lived under.