The Song Of Loneliness Whistles In The Breeze,
Soft And Gentle, Make It End Please,
The Broken Recored Of Misery Repeats Your Name,
Sadly This Record Is Stuck On The Needle,
A High Status Of Fame,
My DNA Entwined With That Of The Divine,
Yet I Am Cold And Alone,
Haunted By Ruthless Demons Nipping At My Nape,
I Sit By A Frigid Glassed Window,
Paned By My Tears Of Pain,
I'm Sick Of Awkward Conversation,
And Honestly I'm Terrified,
Because The Sound Of Your Rhythmic Breathing,
Becoming Closer,
Is Chilling To The Bone,
And I Can Already See Your Face In The Stands,
Because I'm So Broken,
And I Am Distraught,
Because I Can Already Hear The Sound Of,
The Music Of Misery