Covered in the snow of the black forest,
my spirit lives in the nowhere underground.
The cold cold rain, washes down forever -
eats away at your sense of pain.
There's a strange kind of cold chance,
seems like luck lined up against me.
Took the ones I grew so close to,
threw them down down to the ground.
Kill two birds with one stone,
kill another left all alone,
kill two birds with one slip,
I drift alone on this ghost haunted ship.
Sometimes I think of self-pity,
othertimes I think "oh how witty".
Never again is a very long time,
if only there had been one chance.
The sixteenth is a bad day for me,
perhaps that's the day that I'll die.
The sixteenth is a very bad day for three,
gone forever - that is no lie.