For the people who admire loneliness
Who notice the fire in the coldest regions
Who know truly that nothing is flawless
They doubt angels
And have sympathy for demons.
Observing is their flair
Although their souls have turned into stone
They're always aware
Even when they're up past the dawn
They're scared and scare
Their only joy is in walking home alone.
"Love" to them has no definition
They just call it The Tender Roughness
It's always an unsuccessful mission
Simply because they feel others
But when it comes to themselves
It's all numbness.
Their trouble lies in finding each other
A lonely mess is searching for another
But they keep walking.
Discover, suffer and recover
They know for sure what it's worth
To find a lonely lover.
