Paroles originales
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I produce too much of something
Not enough of something else
But the doctors cannot help me
With the puzzle of my health
And I'm tired of easy music
And I'm tired of pretty girls
And I'm tired of being tired
And I'm tired of being hurt
I am the soldier at the back
Who is burdened by his books
Though I stare into the mirror
It does not tell me how I look
So I'm shaving in the darkness
And I'm turning in my sleep
And I'm turning like a monster
With a dead man in his teeth
Oh, part-monster
Oh, part-monster
Oh, part-monster
