Those ashes that makes wall ***** white painted
A candle which periled who borrow
that light of the night of mangier
When yesterday incinerates a tomorrow
Numb and I can't fight the fire with fire
A hundred times hotter than the sun
It ravages my skull, my soul's sins
Skin turns like a Blackened yero
which extends to all layers of the skin
O St. John may be it's not time for your festival
This Smokey place smells burnt funeral
houses that unfitted to gift for each
it made the eyes burn and watery
Isn't it about life or pressure cooker
for a new morn and a head with torn
Which full tank of misery and forlorn.