Nobody told me I'd get tired of myself, when it all looks like heaven, but it feels like hell.

We imitate a story of perfect days, a ballad we fabricate as you forget your words again.

No alabaster carvings or faces on a farthing would prevent my head from fading to black.

You know I deliberate on cutting out the demons. I still need a dark side, they just need a reason.

I wanted you to know, I've learned to live without it, and even though it's colder now, I no longer feel surrounded.