There is a war waging in my head- not of ammunition, but accusation.
Shouts and cries and threats. Screaming not bullets, but voices.
A war of words.
There is no peace in my head- no calm, no place of respite- only raging fords.
Mind like Niagra, falling, falling, empty and broken.
Not even sleep is really sleep any more, just another battleground.
Dead bodies scattered, A war of words.
A war of words.
There is a Cold War going on in my head, cold like the weather, cold like the rain.
The rain tastes sweet like my sanity;
but sanity is just another state of mind. Just like the river, it never quiets down.
The enemy is the successor and Niagra is falling down.
Bridges in London are falling down, only my fair lady is dressed in army fatigues.