While I sit here in this bar,
Drinking my vodka...
Drowning my sorrow...

Hope for it to fade,
Wash away like rain,
Nothing but a cook'd up fantasy...

Do you stand up there at the edge of clouds,
Overlooking,
Playing that little harp...
Stringing that song?
Being the puppeteer?
Smileing...

While I'm down here,
In this hell hole we call earth,
A place of in between,
Or paradice where we have everything?

Do you sing all day?
While I am left to rot?
These chains,
Hold me down,
For your entertainment?

The tighter you pull the more I sufficate...

That in which is yet over,
My torture prolonged...

Even for only a little while...
Will you not give slack?