You are carved yourself into the walls of my soul and you refuse to fix that. You are really made of stone. Your heart cools down, when will it be completely frozen? And these words fix nothing. And my stomach is made of stone. I want to rip your neck off and then blame it on you. I want to rip my neck off and then blame it on you. Writing angrily puzzles words. Still, like this I can write faster. But I cannot go home. Hide my heart under a hood. The roof was blown off.