The killer lives inside me: I can feel him move.
Sometimes he's lightly sleeping in the quiet of his room,
But then his eyes will rise and stare through mine,
He'll speak my words and slice my mind inside.
The killer lives.
The angels live inside me: I can feel them smile,
Their presence strokes and soothes the tempest in my mind
And their love can heal the wounds that I have wrought.
They watch me as I go to fall, well, I know I shall be caught,
For the angels live.
How can I be free?
How can I get help?
Am I really me?
Am I someone else?
But stalking in my cloisters hang the acolytes of gloom
And Death's Head throws his cloak onto the corner of my room and I am doomed,
But laughing in my courtyard play the pranksters of my youth
And solemn, waiting Old Man in the gables of the roof, he tells me truth
And I, too, live inside me and very often don't know who I am,
I know, I'm not a hero, I hope that I'm not damned
I'm just a man, and killers, angels, all are these,
Dictators, saviors, refugees
In war and peace
As long as Man lives
I'm just a man, and killers, angels, all are these,
Dictators, saviors, refugees
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