We are the beloved sons    but we shine like dead suns    give us too much rope    and we fuck it up       the world keeps diving    and we don't give a fuck    'cause we can choose    straight from hate to love       and try to look at yourself    what do you think you are, a superstar?   Who is trying to escape    but from whom... Your own tomb?       If the pain, and the sin, and the chilly wind sting,    and the soul, and the hope, and world's to cold,    choose...       If the mood, and the fruit and life's mute,    and the love, and the sun, and the blood in the veins are gone    choose catharsis       or breath the air    and try to take care    don't set your control on fire    then life will feel a bit lighter    and you'll soon be a bit brighter    and a billion times taller...    And a million times smaller...