Today's pleasures become tomorrow's regrets.

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About taking pleasure in the wrong things; the ones you regret the next morning, the ones that basically ruin you, but inspire you the same.

My blanket's like a second skin
trying to shield me from the blades of time
which make their incisions in me
distorting the visions i see
until i believe captivity's the same
as being free

we'll all suffer tomorrow for our pleasures today
or maybe it's the pleasures i choose
that make sh*** end this way

I take pleasure in all the wrong things
how "i wish that i could throw off the thoughts
which poison my happiness, yet i take some kind of
(sick) pleasure in indulging them" (quote by F. Chopin)
these resigned shrugs and
self-prescribed drugs will not work

we'll all suffer tomorrow for our pleasures today
or maybe it's the pleasures i choose
that make sh*** end this way
And if all time is borrowed,
then life's a debt to be paid
a past-due payment accrued
in some former, better state

there is something tremendous i suffer
when you disappear
and its horrendous pressure is only doubled
when you are here, and i know
a man shouldn't treasure the wrong
and take such high pleasure in falling
(so far down)