Heard that love is in the air
but the only thing I breathe is gas,
gas of Misanthropia
the myth of love is dead,
Feel like being not understood,
god, I wish you f*cking could,
visit my island of sorrow,
love today, hate tomorrow
Walking among the trees,
on my island full of sorrow,
trees resembling corpses,
ain't I a happy bastard?
Just all in my head,
these thoughts of of f*cking death,
maybe all fantasies,
but oh so real to me
don't wanna be positive,
'cause there will always be "if"
no need to f*cking hope,
for good times which won't come