My mother is a syringe. My father is a cigarette.
My lullaby is heavy metal. My bed is an ashtray.
SELF-DESTRUCTION RE-INCARNATE
SELF-DESTRUCTION RE-INCARNATE 
BORN AGAIN WITH A COCAINE LINE AS CORD
You masturbate, sex can wait (I just used to play with boys because - don't - to -). Dreams never come real. Past doesn't exist, it's an illusion. Love disappeared when it become solid. My biological parents are boring as hell. My life is full of SHIT like everyone's else BUT IT'S my LIFE and if I want to complain and WRITE about HOW FUCKING BAD AND INSANE I FEEL I'LL DO IT BECAUSE I CAN. I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE WORLD. So pleasepleasepleaseplease don't fuck with your childlike comments about me and my so fucked up manners. I'm superficial and egoist, deal with it. Like me, love me, hate me, try me. If that sounds hard, tastes harder.