I am not a musician, but this is written as a loud...

Brambled
tree top...

She, with delic
ate...

Drips covering
lips, red dark...

Rain-soaked and buried
In a dreary, summer day...

Look at you dear, lying there
your sweet head on my chest...

Eternal damnation
of a crying clown...

The minutemen in wars of time
pay our pensive acts...

I hear the whispers of those who doubt
but i do not believe...

Just say the word, and I am there for you.
Just think that thought, and I'll think it too...

She dances in us
all...

It crawls away
no purpose at all...