| Song | Paranoid Circus |
| Artist | Lyriel |
| Album | Paranoid Circus |
| Hands and fingers, arms and neck | |
| For the promise to find out | |
| What it is all about | |
| It's already down to heads or tails | |
| Moira did belief in virtue and honesty but | |
| You know innocence breaks so easily | |
| So you can't choose it's not on you to know what's right | |
| Everything is set for the final fight | |
| Deep inside you know it's not just black or white | |
| You are well prepared for the final fight | |
| Every day is judged by the framework | |
| Of your certain point of view | |
| Life is change just like the withering truth | |
| Truth is just a philosophic term | |
| That doesn’t serve the ways of life | |
| Those who want to know bout life must | |
| Find the trace of truth | |
| I'm tired, would you take me home | |
| Where I can rest in your arms | |
| I don't need to make amends | |
| But the streets where you take me home | |
| Recall my paranoid circus of formative years | |
| Playback life and anabolic arguments instead | |
| Maybe that's it all about | |
| It's already down to heads or tails | |
| So she killed herself on a lovely morning | |
| And the rising sun smiled in her numbly eyes | |
| So please show me where the truth is in that sweet tale | |
| You have to admit, it's nothing but a bale | |
| Everything has failed if you can't see what's bright | |
| What you see out there is just what you see inside | |
| Reality is nothing than the register | |
| Of crimes of a humankind | |
| Now you agree it's up to us to do the what?s right | |
| Right comes along with fortune | |
| But fortune is a furtive friend indeed | |
| You can only find the key of fortune in yourself | |
| I'm tired, would you take me home | |
| Where I can rest in your arms | |
| I don't need to make amends | |
| But the streets where you take me home | |
| Recall my paranoid circus of formative years | |
| Of formative years | |
| I'm so tired |
| Hands and fingers, arms and neck | |
| For the promise to find out | |
| What it is all about | |
| It' s already down to heads or tails | |
| Moira did belief in virtue and honesty but | |
| You know innocence breaks so easily | |
| So you can' t choose it' s not on you to know what' s right | |
| Everything is set for the final fight | |
| Deep inside you know it' s not just black or white | |
| You are well prepared for the final fight | |
| Every day is judged by the framework | |
| Of your certain point of view | |
| Life is change just like the withering truth | |
| Truth is just a philosophic term | |
| That doesn' t serve the ways of life | |
| Those who want to know bout life must | |
| Find the trace of truth | |
| I' m tired, would you take me home | |
| Where I can rest in your arms | |
| I don' t need to make amends | |
| But the streets where you take me home | |
| Recall my paranoid circus of formative years | |
| Playback life and anabolic arguments instead | |
| Maybe that' s it all about | |
| It' s already down to heads or tails | |
| So she killed herself on a lovely morning | |
| And the rising sun smiled in her numbly eyes | |
| So please show me where the truth is in that sweet tale | |
| You have to admit, it' s nothing but a bale | |
| Everything has failed if you can' t see what' s bright | |
| What you see out there is just what you see inside | |
| Reality is nothing than the register | |
| Of crimes of a humankind | |
| Now you agree it' s up to us to do the what? s right | |
| Right comes along with fortune | |
| But fortune is a furtive friend indeed | |
| You can only find the key of fortune in yourself | |
| I' m tired, would you take me home | |
| Where I can rest in your arms | |
| I don' t need to make amends | |
| But the streets where you take me home | |
| Recall my paranoid circus of formative years | |
| Of formative years | |
| I' m so tired |