By Arcassin Burnham

When daydreams turn to nightmares,
Your mind bleeds a little bit less,
Painful memories,
At least it use to be,
Broken spinal cords,
And plastic ropes have made your enemies,
Make Alice say you have more madness than I do,
And the Hatter Couldn't Believe,
I Could Paint the canvas just the way you want it,
have It Any Which Way,
won't Judge Or choose for you,
Now you depend on desperation to save the day,
But Only god Can judge on A Sunday,
So I Assume Its A Now or Never,
True Soldiers pick roses for their fallen,
Not knowing what they fell into,
what their objective was,
what they were entitled to,
well,
Doubts are not as bad suspicions,
But theres bad blood,
always see to it that you put in a mention,
If Its final of the finessed you want,
you'll get it.