My old, out-of-tune piano,
when I play Metamorphosis by Philip Glass
through black-and-white eyes
speaks of me more truly
than a long, dramatic script.

I walk through the hopeless fields of limbo
and stop to smell hell’s fragrant flowers
As bodies burn in heaps below and paint the walls a bright vermillion
Limbs torn apart ceaselessly or beaten down by rain showers
I can’t wait to reach the circle that you’re still in
As I have been lost in a dark woods, I’ve been stuck here for hours
Is there any way to hate the game
and still win?
Lower myself and descend for you
I hope you'll remember my name
Lovers ****** for their lust is said to be cause for a bad fate
He claims to be led by love
Yet it's just the thing He seems to hate
So make me a raven, release the dove
I don’t care if I never rise to the world above