Hurt, Destroyed And Torn... There's Nothing Left

Withered weed in a base Old wooden table Remembers The days of fame Cold is the way Paying with pain Like thousands Of useless coins That rings in my pocket Morning rises And i dream to have ability To keep my eyes closed Just when sun stops Hating all my dark dreams Withered weeds in a base I remember those days When the smell of fresh flowers Was you hair Those moments All to give back With tears and destruction Of a flesh I smell the evening Feeling cutting through me As the red light on The horizon...