Spinning around and around and around,
No love to be seen, no peace to be found.
Watch the shed, the shed, the shed,
Smash into cars and create more dead.
Falling down and down and down,
Into the water, starting to drown.
Fly away and away and away,
But the things you've seen, forever will weigh.

A lonely spider,
No bigger than a tack.
He has built his home,
A sturdy web between two great wooden pillars,
Overlooking the lake.
His silk is strong as steel.
His web is a silent monument to his will.

The world is burning,
Black snowflakes twirl through the air.
This is more magical than any childhood flurry,
This is destruction, beautiful and complete.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I can hear them sinking into pits of tar.
"Please, please, please" they cry.
Only I can hear them.
I will do nothing.

Life is a pile of steaming, smelly *******.
Why can't I live my own life?
Why can't I make my own mistakes?
It's because I am nothing.
I am the shadow in the back of the classroom,
Who disappears when you turn your head.
I am a shifting wind,
Your drug dealer.
Your best friend.
Your enemy.
I am no-one at all, and you know not my name.
Not because you don't care.
Because I don't have one.

Alone in a crowd,
A drop in a cloud.
Trapped in my own mind.
I smile and laugh,
Give my autograph,
But the lights are making me blind.
Alone and surrounded,
Happiness unfounded,
But I just put up a grin.
My mask is imploding,
From people's corroding,
So I will reveal what's within.

Trapped in a nightmare,
Silent screams for somebody.
Best to laugh, not cry.

Crime scenes made by people who bathe in sin,
Are the just the same as haunted ****** love.
Strips are ripped and teared from the victims skin,
Guilty fingers shrouded in leather gloves.
Mistresses use swords to steal men away,
Militants use words to cut off their head.
Books are painted in fifty shades of gray,
A masterpiece in fifty shades of red.
There is a reason love is called a fall.
Jumping from cliffs above to rocks below.
Juliet is dead from the lion's maul,
Romeo is rotting beneath the snow.
To love is to be stabbed in every eye,
Emotions make it kind to slowly die.