growing torns inside of me,
getting filled with agony.
cutting the sword so deep,
becoming well known creep.
down on the edge of happiness,
where you meet the darkness.
down at the edge of sadness,
where you meet the lightness.
loving the sunset for years,
nothing as it seems.
hating the sunrise for years,
nothing as it seems.
blowing candles in an empty room,
for someone it's only boredom.
hanging clothes on the wet ceiling,
for someone it has no meaning.
cutworm will change into butterfly,
mine are only getting younger.
until the last piece of me dies,
the mind will get darker.
