Текст: Alice In Chains. Jar of Flies. Nutshell.

We chase misprinted lies, we face the path of time
And yet I fight and yet I fight this battle all alone
No one to cry to, no place to call home

My gift of self is raped, my privacy is raked
And yet I find, yet I find repeating in my head
"If I can't be my own, I'd feel better dead"