It's not black, like everyone tells you
It's a very odd kind of gray
With a touch of light even
Some parts clean
Some parts stained

They all make it seem like a romanticised hell
To me it doesn't even look like that
To me it looks like home
Familiar and yet so alone

I see the sunlight and the floor
The soft sheets on the bed
The lines of lights that come through the door
All the tears made the pillow wet
That didn't matter though  

Once in a while
I drive past that house
I try to see my bedroom window
But my brain just shuts it out
It wasn't even the worst room of all
But this one, was where I howled

Memories are like a story
A book that lost some pages
Through the garden, through the hallway
You go through all the different places
Nostalgia and fear
Are a combination with some monstrous faces

During the nights I was afraid
But the days
Those were the ones that really should be feared
Maybe that's why I now love the night
During the day I always bleed