When you speak I imagine spitting your face. I imagine how you'd look with broken teeth. Because there's nobody falling for your cultural disgrace And everybody knows what lies beneath. I can't stand inconsistence of personality. It's the travesty of digging your own grave. The only thing that is left for you in the end is dig for dignity But there is not any left for you to save. Short of breath, eye of death. Run you fool, raging bull! Seems like all that I feel is carved on my gaze, Spontaneous as to self-immolate. The only thing that I care about is to escape this maze By crushing down the walls and running straight. Short of breath, eye of death. Run you fool, raging bull! I think they call out my name, although I'm scared of the sound Guilt is the nature of shame, boy...