I give blood to prove to myself that I can matter to somebody else.
Is what makes a man the dirt on his hands?
If so, don´t put your faith in the desert sand,
Because the wind is always blowing.
There are gallows deep inside my lungs, that´s where I hung ambition.

Is it luck that´s knocking right on my back door?
Because I´ve been breaking mirrors since 1984.
I walk under ladders, I spill salt on sores
And I open my umbrella even when I am indoors,
So give me seven more.

I give blood not for the cause but to slowly give up the person I was.
Holding my breath won´t help, everything went to hell,
So now I steal back pennies from the well because my wishes failed.
I am screaming at my own shadow to stop living like a ghost.

Is it luck that´s knocking right on my back door?
Because I´ve been breaking mirrors since 1984.
I walk under ladders, I spill salt on sores
And I open my umbrella even when I am indoors,
So give me seven more.

I don´t need her; I´m not that desperate.
Come visit me in twenty years and maybe then
Cause I´m not done screaming yet
You can call off the intervention, cause I don´t need your attention.

Is it luck that´s knocking right on my back door?
Because I´ve been breaking mirrors since 1984.
I walk under ladders, I spill salt on sores
And I open my umbrella even when I am indoors,
So give me seven more.

I don´t need her; I´m not that desperate.
I don´t need her; I´m not that desperate.