Of course I feel like dying, the world's only getting blacker.
Of course I feel like crying, I feel like a disaster.
I see the light through crimson eyes and that appears is red.
It's not hate, maybe its' rage, but I know my spirit's dead.
I take that back, that's not the fact. It's probably only sleeping.
Yet so much I look around and hope that I'm not dreaming.
Cause everything's not so painful and dark, not everything's a funeral
Just get out and smell the roses, this life is also beautiful.