Inside the gothic chamber of my heart
A round shaped table,painted dark,
A chandelier from crystals made.
A mirror seeking my own fate.

Up on a chair,a little child ,
With hair as night and eyes so wild
That a single stare could cut
Through the ration of a thought.

Every day he takes a knife
And he cuts himself alive.
All from scars, his body's made,
Counting them to stay awake.

Stay awake he always thought
If you sleep all fall apart
If you close your eyes to weep
The whole world will die asleep.

One day ,he touched his face
Searching for a tiny place,
Where he could add a scar to count,
But no place, was to be found.

With his vision towards the moon
His counting stopped.He entered soon
The dreaded dream he always found
A thing to fear,the holy ground.

And in his dream he finds his heart,
A round shaped table,painted dark,
A chandelier from crystals made,
A mirror broken by his fate.