Reality is cruelty,
But I suppose so is fantasy.
What good is it to dream,
What use does it do to scream?
A world divided,
A pain still not subsided.
And even when I close my weary eyes,
I still feel the pain of his razor lies.
One day I picked up a knife,
I imagined ending my life.
I still see those dreams,
I can still hear myself scream...
Nothing is what it seems?
Nyghtmares are also dreams.
So if dreams can come true,
My nyghtmares can too.
Maybe tonyght when I close my eyes,
Maybe I won't I dream of blood red knives?
I cannot erase my crimson lines,
But maybe I can take back what is mine?
Can I restore a shattered innocence,
Even though I'm frightened by silence?
Can I?