The music goes on,
while everything else slips away...

'It might be our last day', they mockingly say,
not believing the words they were just so quick to...

The moon has gone away
to spare the spotlight on my grave...

As the knife goes through my chest,
I lose all memories of the past...

The sweet caring wind blows my way,
but somehow i always frighten it away...

Stuck in this skin,
this skin is me...

Remember this day,
remember it at best...

I laughed but a moment,
And cried inside all the more...

I let you go,
as if you were a thorn on my rose...