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A Woman Named America

de Vacuum

Withering Away
I'm going astray
Beyond the maze
Of fibres of doubth

When the eyes burn low
In marsh of sadness and vanity
When the eyes burn low
You poor, dying

Pursued by the past
I don't feel any future
Unbelleving in the present
I feel more nothing
Thorned by remembrances
Unable to feel, to do

When the eyes burn low
I'm drawning in the marsh
When the eyes burn low
You poor, dying

To cut the veins
And then - fly away
Suicide and curse
I don't believe in the the Savior
Tears of helplessnes
You poor, dying

I feel a change
When the eyes burn low.

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