It begins to rain.
Some droplets here and there,
Uninteresting to say the least,
Yet it will suffice for now.

It begins to pour.
The sky darkens, the wind blows,
An applause for the beauty of this song,
And it ought to suffice for now.

It begins to storm.
The heavens split into a multitude,
The cries of the winds and earth ravaging all,
It is sufficient now.

It begins to fall.
The clouds shatter, the mirror breaks,
The weeping and mourning continue,
It is overwhelming now.

But yonder,
It is raining somewhere else.

He stares into the eye of that deceased,
And quietly whispers: "It's okay."
With gentle hands he puts her down,
And rise from his statuesque pose.

We often try to land with some fashion,
A trickshot or a backflip.
But sometimes it is better to just,
Keeping falling for a while longer.

Just remember when you stand again,
To try not to rot away, please.

An artist walked this plane of woe,
Where thought would never give you foes,
A tri-sect star could put to show,
An angel in the form of does.

So sweet and were we that day,
And ever lost in fools that play,
That none could see that rotting fame,
Which brought to us our greatest clay.

Had you been there to see that blight,
Perchance you may have solve this fight,
But ne'er was ease a glass soul's mate,
Those colors did tell us our night.

So no, I say, to this request,
For naught could I give to this fest,
And disturb us our dreams.

>                   Crashing,                                  wavering.
            ­  Singing         some                     emptied          song,
       Tossing away          the                worthless              thing.
Amidst the endless                     storms of this sea.
Where no cries could be        heard. Not unlike those,
chambers of madness. Where no song can reach; no wave can crash; no will to seize; no life can live; no dream to foam. And all reduce to

an empty song.

They say that windows are beautiful.
Elegant, truly, and crafted with mastery.
Especially the stained-glass windows,
They shatter so easily.

They say eyes are like
windows to the heart.
But yours are ever blind,
And mine are ever lost.

Haha
Haha
It makes me insane
It makes me cry
Is it a joke?
Is it a song?
I guess we'll just never know

Oh dear
Oh God
I've stopped existing
I've stopped living
For long as I breathe it aches
For long as I live it pains
Reset, reset, now please

Haha
Haha
This is all so boring

Haha
Haha
This is all pointless

A child's playing
A happy ending
(I want to just end this *)

A grieving lame
A crying kinda fame
(I want to just end this *)

Oh, oh
Can you cure this kind of despair?
Can you fix this kind of despir?
It makes me insane
It makes me cry
Can you?
Can you?

The reason I feel this kind of pain, oh oh
The reason I feel this kind of way, oh oh
Is only because I have seen what else there is
Only because I've seen too much

Is it a joke?
Is it a song?
Crying ever on,
Holding the shovel in my hands, shaking

For long as I breathe it aches
For long as I live it pains
Who cares about ethics?
Who cares about morals?

Haha
Haha
What does all of this mean?
I wish
I wish
For all life to decease!

Like rays of judgment.
Like seeds of love.
Like beads of wrath.
Like those of madden gods.
Like pills of incontinence.
Like marbles of glass.
Like the will to grief.
Like those of an innocent child.