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| In Flames Clayman Suburban Me The self-inflicted state of mind A one-man struggle beneath the tower I think the clock still exist god just forgot to tap my shoulder I woke up today I wish I felt something The odour of my apathy just might be true I wan't to be the things I see The pilgrim that is me But I know I ain't that free The suburban me Spirits rise and miss the eye Covered by the stench of judgment As gods reflection test my pride I serve the failure that's haunting me Twisted visions toturing Who claims to be the one? That filtered smile just might be true "On half-speed, tonight I suffer Satisfaction brings the unheeded" Can you hear the message, as I wrestle with the clouds? I'm on the way to succumb, It just might be true |
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