I wonder sometimes, what is the point of life, what is this life about
Do we suffer for dreams of solipsistic madmen, alone in this place
What is there but fear, pain, lust and seeking pleasure and treasures
Isolated in the distance, a wasteland desolation leaves us mourning
For all the highest aspirations, we've wasted them, our lives emptied
In an asylum called existence, try to endure the emotional starvation
