Who he use to be could never find the truth on his own...

The shades of sympathy, tattooed the irony to the bone...

And what they were you see, was like dreaming meant nothing at all...

Here he is again, always been here alone, on his own...

Your as porcelain, as a china doll...

So life like, yet so empty...

Your hallow heart, is harboring the echos of each murderous word...

These murderous words concealed...



What they use to be, turns out it never really was much...

And as the tables turn he looks to me I would not budge...

But he says right now is out of body and enraged...

Here I am to blame, I've always been here...

Always been here, alone, on his own...

What goes around comes around...

what goes around comes back around...

It goes around, it comes around and goes back around...

Your as porcelain, as a china doll...

So life like, yet so empty...

Your hallow heart, is harboring the echos of each murderous word...

These murderous, your so murderous...

Your as porcelain, as a china doll...

So life like, yet so empty...



He never really was much of anything at all...

But then you wake up and there you are, facing yourself...