
I look at my hands the climb here they are aged don't know where I am

I look at my hands the climb here they are aged don't know where I am

The old crackled paint is at the end the winner thinly protected

My ugly head was looking at my stare in your eyes both looking as if we were away

I can see only the next barrier clearly while freeing myself

I forgot about that protruding memory till I did look down

A shade in darkness illuminating a dream where I hide my light

A long way alone a thin path I grew alone alone is my view

In between the trees there is always a straight path a coincident

I am all contrast after I no longer show left unconnected

It's almost evening my hair still looks like morning a long nothing day

The dance is almost like a long summer over there's just a portrait

The end seems to be falling slowly to a ground my decomposing

I still feel the sun on my wings who flew away there was no goodbye

Even the silence will have a color that rhymes so you can sparkle

Your old skin dying you cling to the source of life till it will leg go

Floating in the air Like a hanging Madusa only wind moves you