Anxiety, the ever damnable beauty
You twisted my love into sins
You bend my trust into truths;
You are a rose that doesn't have thorns
Instead you're armed with thousand swords,
And in them I found myself
Always wounded—
Always I fold.

In the end I am a jester,
Laughing like a fool,
Kneeling in front the gallows
About to lose my darling head;
The stench of all the depraved
Mixed into a harrowing essence called Despair
Seeping into my soul as it pollute the air.

Darkness hugs me as my only friend
Crystals stained the pillows in my bed;
I know there's no problem
But you cunning devil incessantly whispered to me,
That they are always near.