When I hear myself,
I think bad thoughts

When I see myself,
I think worse

How many times have we been here?
(Don't answer, you might lose your head)

How many times?
More than 4

How sick do you have to be before dying?

When I correct myself,
I feel better than myself

Please don't think
Please don't think
Please don't think about it

The will to live
Is as simple as knowing,
"I don't want to die"

And if you have the will to live
You have the will
For anything

His plenty health
The beating breath
Beats with his heart
Abounding

Born from bed,
The fountain of the sun
Bathes him

His majesty
In the tower sky
Unfolding fast
The blinding day

Love him,
The laugh of the world
King of tomorrow
And every day

Blood in my eyes
Tells me I'm wise
For letting go

But I was never there
To care
From the beginning

All my hope for love
And evil, too
Trusted to you
And you let go

My bones are broke
My wallet, too
There's a scar inside
And there's no cut deeper

When you die  I want to carry you
Through the lines of tears

And lift you up
On the wings you gave me

There are no oceans but yours
There is no music but your voice

And every day I can hear them well

When you die I want to die with you
And live forever
In the heaven you made

Quick as lightning
Cloaked in sun
Your words went away
Spent on every day
And I wasn't even listening

Burned in a bruised breath
The sting of every sound
From your lips
A million years grimaced
And caved in

For every drop of rain
In your blood
My very heart boils
With the memory of your every feature
Like musical notes
That took a future with you far away

Oft against the shy rocks
The sleep god sounds his horn
To the frost-bitten day.

The birds leap into frenzied flight
Like flames stretching forward
To the cracked blue of the breaking sky.

A hammer in his minds repeats
The recitation of rhyming prayers
A flicker in his fingers fuels the spark to
play the notes that need no singing.

How long tormented
He will to the forest wind
And desert winding walls
The sobbing bells
The maddening world-
How long tormented will his eyes set like the sun
In the ancient hills
And the black angels cry out ceaselessly ?