Imprisoned in our drunken thoughts of escaping
Is there any single hope for changing?
If the moon is a friend for the lonesome to talk to
Then why does it say, there are no directions available to pursue?
I wanted to live a dream, he granted it for me
And yet, there is no time to spare
O you, lonely soul, are you melancholy, or are you in despair?
Words cut like a knife sometimes
But it pierces my heart instead
They say that the end is the beginning, and the beginning is the end
Will it even ever change?