What if I say to you
That I have a little problem
That my soul is empty and insipid
Like an average russian watermelon There's no music
There's no shine
There's no flood
And this problem is mine I was locked in a chamber
Feel like flower's seed
Mixed with minced meat
Buried at the bottom of planter What if say to you
That I have a little problem
That they gave me seven ways of suicide
To split my russian watermelon There's no music
There's no sound
It's no good
Searching way out I was never addicted
To the pleasures of a normal man
My will was stolen
Admission to my soul's restricted What if I say to you
That I have a little problem
That my soul has turned into a garbage
Like an average russian watermelon There's no music
There's no shine
There's no flood
And this problem is mine
There's no music
There's no sound
It's no good
Searching way out
Room is dead
Look around