A source of anger,
A source of me,
A kind of raging,
Sadly I can't see.

He walks on past me,
I follow close and let,
the fear inside him flow.

The sense of reason,
The sense of aim created this,
Created the pain.

To doubt his pain,
Left to rot away,
the truth and all came back to me.

The same mistakes again,
You make the same mistakes again,

Leave it on the table,
Leave it up to him,
Leave it on the table,
Leave it up to him.

The sense of reason,
The sense of aim created this,
Created the pain.

To doubt his pain,
Left to rot away,
The truth and all came back to me,

The same mistakes again,
You make the same mistakes again,
You make the same mistakes again.