He took a deep breath, then he stepped outside – The lonely guest at the scene of the crime. A strangled voice in the back of the stage. It kept on saying: It is never too late.
He was his right hand that was pulling the thread – The freedom of choice burning bright in his head. Every night as he stared at the moon, The demon spoke: The time will come very soon.
We’re heading for tomorrow x3
He took a deep breath, then he looked at his knife – The lonely guest at the scene of the crime. Fallen king, bloody paint. He spoke aloud: It is never too late.