The Hits

I am the pale mark of a fotgotten name,
All these years, and it's still the same
All the hate, and the fear, and i'm still in chains.
We're trapped in these bodies allergic to change.

I feel the punishment taking it's toll.
I feel all of the hits, every single blow.
And i don't know how long i can do this alone
For the first time ever i am feeling old.

We are nothing
We are allergic to change
All the hate and the fear
And we are still in chains.

There won't be an easier way.
We suffer patiently to keep it this way.
Like a new spark to and old flame.
Every tear helps to wash it away.