Somehow we survive
bombshells coming at us...

What you know of me
is a layer of paint on a canvas...

His name is Satan
feeding of goodhearted souls...

When you and I first met they had me on bed rest...
I remember the room being cold with nothing to...

As i am walking down the road of life
i have come to the conclusion...

Faded wallpaper
the floors are squeaking...

Strength is a reflection of her eyes
a fighter on the battlefield...

You can hear the drums from across the river
leaves are shaking...

A Mother's heart
there is no other...

As I am rinsing off my face
tears are floating down the drain...

When busy painting
I often use a language that's misunderstood...

I'm tired of talking, pouring out my soul
forced to defend what's going on inside my brain...