Текст: Wounded (the). Day Of Joy.

:
What are these dark and wicked things you always show me?
Cutting deep inside the blind part of my overloaded mind.
Spinning on to become a gentle yet a foul and elusive thought.
I create, but I cannot decipher that what's in my head.
I hide.

I see we have a fight once more, how they never pass me by.
It's unbelievable how they always arrive on time.
Tranquillize me with aggressive drugs, yet awake I see they never left my
sleeping head.
I'm running out of time, were running out of time.
I'm running out of time, were running out of time.

I have lost my sense on a bitter day,
Yet I lay my trust in your bleeding hands.
Hoping that my faith will never die.
Were running out of time.