As the lines in my face grow deeper
And the well of my soul runs dry
I find that I drink more and more
From the memories of you and I.
[Instrumental]
The taste of fame is fire to me no more
The tension and hunger are gone
All I have left are money in the game
I'm a prisoner too low I'm on.
As the lines in my face grow deeper
And the well of my soul runs dry
I find that I drink more and more
From the memories of you and I.
[Instrumental to fade]