Wishing that tomorrow will be here, As though it is never near. A blade upon the skin, As though it was a sin. A bloody tear, Is what we fear. The arm of blood, Drowning in a flood. Its all in our minds, Of something we cannot find. Of the hunger that is not fed, In what is lurking in our head. A blade back upon the skin, As though it was a sin. In the dead of the night, You've lost that fight.