I'll keep on writing until my hands will bleed
I'll write myself out; my sorrows and my greed
I have replaced some other face with yours
I have denied that you're made of closed doors
And even though at start you were a game
A trifle that will pull me out of shame
A fake reflection of my own revolution
Of the one who seemed to be solution
No matter how long will I grow your seed
My garden craves for it, it is in need
No matter how hard I try to close my eyes
And then wake up next morning, without belief in lies
You are not just reflection anymore
You're part of me now, you're the closed door.