Is it true that when my head is spinning
you think that you can express yourself...

I look down at my work with a smile,
at the pale and bloodied soul...

When tears of blood,
fall from my eyes...

Twirling,
smiling...

To the stars above,
shining forever bright...

Insignificant little differences,
bring confusion into the game...

We are all made up of the same colours,
Red, the love as it blooms and grows inside of us...

All these thoughts within my mind,
have escaped through my fingertips...

I remember from when I was little,
dad telling me they were all the same...

Painting the sky red,
the sun finishes its work...

Who knew a sliver of paper,
is all that would stand in my way...

I am sitting on the curb,
as the rain starts to fall...