Once more I'm at a low within myself. I can make believe 
to deal. Too late to turn back. Complaining 'the 
passion's gone' are words that define wasted time. Shot 
down by inquiring eyes that can't disguise. Rehearsing 
the words they long to hear still I can't lie it rips 
inside; bang, you're dead. Do you feel for me like I 
think you do? Give me faith a new order to give me 
faith..