Blessed childhood, surplus energy
Still have time to make an enemy
Rich in restlessness, poor in honesty
Muted reason, fast to fight
Now you've made a liar of me, of me
Now you've made a sinner of me, of me
Stunted emotion, regretting every word
Firmly believing everything I have heard
Foreign feelings drag me out the dirt
Is there something, something here?
How'd you make a fighter of me, of me?
Can you make a winner of me, of me?