The mind your music makes,
the truth your lying takes,
the love your hating fakes,
the silence your being breaks.

The final form of you/your you,
the lasting scar of what you do,
the riddled brain of what I knew,
the final form of I me too.

The ending bit of being first,
the starting point of loving worse,
the hopeless hope of knowing now,
the knowing that I disavow.

The final love of making music!
Let love in/let love abuse it!

The starting end of/the mind your music makes.

The love your loving fakes.

Our fears will be unfounded,
sounding in the dark.
The lone/civil courtesy (of truth)
before we depart.

Our minds will be elated,
salvation of the sense.
To hear not hate and taste not evil,
we'll finally repent.

Our hearts will be hapless,
helpless we shall love!
And for all the dying fantasies,
fantastically we'll plunge.

Should I then/before I go,
bring to you a song.
I'll sing that our pain is dead,
but ever for our fears move on.