The conspiracy I've put myself into Maybe made me breathing again, But no matter which liberating relief is used This view is still sad.
Just a hopeless shard of second to remember And days start to count themselves, In a story that ends in a fright And breakthrough of lectures on shelves A creeping portrayal of what I am
Black ink drips mixed with a truth on my fingers That break themselves, In agony of going through scaveging Of my notorious love and hate.
But right after then, a sanguine colored angels Circle around my solitary grave, As I am no one Without burdens on my back, Without greed in my sacks, Without my heart being grey, Without me being a man, A part of humanity and this disgrace