He called out my name,
But I’ve never seen his face.
Just a guy walking down the street,
He looked ***** and I am sure he had nothing to eat.
For a month I guess.

He wore blue jeans,
And shirt with its sleeves torn.
He walked weirdly,
As if his legs were just mere bones.
Another ***** from the streets I guess.

“It’s been months” he said,
“You look well”.
I was not sure who he was still,
I was hoping that he would tell,
His name at least.

He studied my eyes,
And knew that I was in distress,
“Oh you don’t remember” he said,
“Don’t worry, I am death.
Hoping you would remember me from your dreams.”

I stood still,
Because this wasn’t a dream.
My skin grew cold,
My throat was too dry to scream.

“Don’t be scared” he said
“I am not going to take you.
I took this human form,
In order to teach you,
About pain and suffering,
And everything you desire,
About life and death,
And everything in this pit of fire.”

“Crazy is the mind of man” he continued,
“He could do anything to fulfil his thirst,
He could do anything to come first,
Pursuing things that don’t even matter.”

He turned his face towards a woman,
She was walking her dog.
The collar was too tight,
But the lease was too long.

“How long do you think it would take?
For her to realize that her dog is about to give his last breath away.
How long do you think it would take?
For the man in front of them to turn his face away.”

Every morning I close my eyes,
And every night I open them.
Every time when thunder strikes,
I feel completely overwhelmed.

There is something inside of me,
Which brings me near to death.
There is something in my mind,
Which does not make me feel so well.
My body aches,
And the pain ever grows.
What I feel,
Nobody knows.

The story from life to death,
Stops for a while.
Now, I am neither dead nor alive,
I wish I could again be a stubborn child.
I cry in pain,
For I know the end is near.
I pray for death to take me away,
For it is life that I fear.

Welcome to my humble abode,
Here I lay still.
In my place of rest,
Where I certainly will.

Welcome to the house of thunder,
The house of pain and laughter,
The house of rage and plunder,
The house you'll live in hereafter.

There is a town right next to that alley around the corner,
The people are quite peculiar and strange over there.
They have this air of uneasiness that surrounds them,
And their voice brings nothing but discomfort.
I wish I could spend this November in the winter's moon,
And pray for their world to be vanished.
I sit and wonder about the places I have been,
And switch off the lights for the remnants of my dream.

There is a town right next to the streetlight that flickers every night,
It's kind of a dislocated town.
There is no sense of belonging among the people,
And they try to capture the essence of the place by bragging.
I wish they could spend this November in the winter's moon,
And speak not of the laughter but of sadness.
For there is no fun in the life they live,
And they have already died from inside.

Oh, have you seen him,
That flying man.
And did you hear him,
Talking about his life.
Did you call him,
To teach you about love.
Now listen,
As he talks.
So politely and sweetly,
As he walks.
Now talk to him,
About your life,
About love, power
And violence.
Now look,
As he walks away.
Changing you from inside,
Filling your mind with wisdom
And insanity.
Now look,
Inside yourself.
Search for freedom,
Search for salvation,
And meaning.
Now fly,
Like a bird.
As your freedom is yours,
It's not for anyone to take.
Now look,
As people call you,
To teach them of love, power
And violence.

Underneath the moonlight the birds hide,
And during the midnight the lady wakes up with pride.
She puts on her make up,
With the mascara shining on her face.
She enters her room,
What an awful place.

The darkness overwhelmed her,
And the silence cried.
Deep in the nighttime,
It brought her a big fright.
She couldn’t see herself in the mirror,
It was as cloudy as it can be,
She sure would have been a liar,
If she smiled with glee.

This Lady I speak of,
She reminds me of death.
She reminds me of hatred,
That I just can't forget.
Her eyes are weary,
Her hair is grey.
I sure doesn’t look pretty,
With those lines on her face.

But, now she sits still
With those cloudy eyes.
In a room full of sorrow,
And an elegant prize.
The prize of death,
The prize of peace.
The prize of isolation,
That would bring her ease.

What I fear,
I cannot tell.
For is it death or the risk of losing,
I cannot tell.
Every morning I hear,
The highly frequent ring of that towering bell.
But, is it a sign of freedom,
I cannot tell.

I cannot tell,
The lies from the truth.
For the lies are many,
But truth is just one.
And the fear of dying,
Is critized by no one.
For is it living that I fear,
Or the sound from that hollow tale,
What I fear,
I cannot tell.