Ever sick of the trifle of problems of life
And the dark of the con of the man;
When the noise is incessant and the colours fluorescent
And I hold nothing but my own hand.

Slay the dark! Slay the problems! And dim all the lights,
Please, I beg you, the ending is near!
I don't want to go out with my light still about,
Yes, the bane of my life is that fear.

The sun burns and blinds both the eyes on my back
Now I see in just one direction.
With perpetual silence and cacophonic sirens,
My senses impaired to perfection.

I wish I could smell the sweet scent of our lives
But there's only the blood in my nose.
The storms I endure makes hell look almost pure,
And the darkness won't come to a close...

We walk to the end, or the end comes to us,
The wise of us will know to run.
All the noise is incessant and the colours fluorescent
With perpetual silence with cacophonic sirens,
We are the dark of the sun.