I'm floating in the air
immune to sorrow and loss.
For this I don't need to be prepared,
being happy at no cost.
There are no tears to shed,
no reasons to cry.
There are no knives on my bed,
no reason to say goodbye.
With a scream I awake,
almost believing the illusion, a mistake
of a foolish hope, so fake.
But I see the truth now,
I'm laying underground.
Unprepared for sadness,
surrounded my all this madness.
Tears are flowing
mixed with blood
because to bed I'm going
where knives have stood.
Now inside me the knives glitter in crimson red
as I say "Come lover, to my bed"
