And then there's the blood But I can't feel my own skin A knife in the hands of volatility The sight of my own, estranged Losing a handle on reality Although it was never all that firm I’ve lost the meaning in morality As well as the meaning in this mortal boundary Was the knife in my hands cause I'm shaking In the mirror I stare, my vision is fading Is it the end again?
The tiles are stained so deep in my masochism A fitting match to this porcelain heart The broken lines that I've utter may reflect the lines that I have etched on myself Cutting away the innocence or whatever was left The damage is forever unending Slipping in the broken pieces and bleeding In the hours I’ve screamed through the pain awakened Through the red, white, and black I’m escaping In remembrance of what I’ve forgotten Regrets that have could never be amended Is it the end again?