I walk in this shadow
Where light leaves me be...

With immeasurable judgement
I become the light...

I can see now
Glass on tarmac...

Roll up everybody
See the circus of freaks...

Sit down down next to me
My angel with scabbed wings...

The hurt will hurt you
The row will sadden you...

I feel like I want to write about
Someone who hates her own skin...

They call this path the red walk
My mask is made of the dead...

Seeds that sprout and fly in green green gardens
Upheld in hope by summers breeze...

Moves over the chain
Shakes off the cobwebs...

When love is lost
It still exists...

Merrily sings
Of macabre things...