Sitting in my room.
Wondering about God.
Watching the bomb tick away.
To something I don't know.

You are all stupid, you all are useless.
Seeking light, then ending in your mind's dull jam,
your septic-clean sty.
You all are closing yourself to the World
None of you I will befriend - Satan or God
I will hold his hand.
I will go on living till I die.
And only then, I will close my eyes.
My life - a testament to revise
if I have to say my last goodbye...

"I saved myself". I did, but I could have never done it, without It
And the time I spend thinking about it, the further I lie from It
My mind crafts this -
I need to befriend it, whoever it is
In the face of fear, we start worshipping odd things
Life is the supreme
Life does always win, if you let it trespass your door
and fill your heart
Death is a tragedy. To whom does it belong?
Satan or God - you are not what I was told

Make-believe beauty - for bad times
the madwoman is not the mad one
Is it creation - or is it just *****? Sacred ***** then

I am a madwoman and this room is my attic.
I couldn't come last night - so I am crying
I will hold his hand, and His too
or Hers, for the universe lies in me too.