In a boarded up box,
Lays his spirit...

He always knows when to hold her hand
and when to brush his palms against her cheek...

He had hit rock bottem
forced to starve out on the lonely street...

The pretty girl, she sits alone in empty grief
wondering why her heart was given to a thief...

A deep grey sky...
An angel, lying in the rain...

The gods are crying tears of ice
and its falling over my face like rain...

Her face was full of joy
her hair was the purest white...

And she was the perfect girl
the perfect hair...

I see her standing on the corner
with her long golden hair...

Shaking my prison doors viciously
weary of the female odor I possess...

She's a foreigner in her own body
and she's thinking of his hands...

A girl with torren eyes,
So painful...