Your life is an interrupted story,
No more than short-term blaze of glory.
It’s a metaphor that hits heavily,
‘Cause you’re your perfect mortal enemy.

Tunnel vision hides altered reality,
Your mind took up self-destructive morality,
Each feeling you’ve got is as deep as the ocean,
You lie to yourself that it cannot be poison.

When stars explode, the light is healing,
As it’s all dark you crush the ceiling.
You feel chills going down the spine,
You’re burning out, lost track of time.

And there’s no scream, it’s a silent battle.
It is vain to fix something that’s fatal.
You’ll never know why dead divine
Still haunts you and whispers: «You are borderline»