A desolate
Wishing for solace
In a rose-colored world
Spells nothing but disaster;
An ecstasy that pains more than it pleasures;

A broken soul
Too used to pain;
Such as one can see the answer,
Yet not how to claim it;
A painstaking assurance.

If it weren't for these demons,
I would've lived another life;
If it weren't for their voices,
I would've just died.
If it wasn't for them bugging me.

I might not remember what I say,
I may not know of what I would tell;
Maybe my demons would take over me,
By force, if they'd want it be.*
Pray tell what mishap I'll make you do.