The winds are calling our names,
Like birds we shall fly away...

Hold onto a piece of paper
A pen took your hand for itself...

Misfortune's own flesh and blood,
Where my soul is locked...

Under the writings of a tired hand
Under the sight of blinded eyes...

I found a pen willing to trace a wretched mind
Willing to drain tears from my eyes...

I took the knife and pressed it among my skin
As I peeled it off I forced a grin...