And I sit smoking high on my mushroom
reading a role call for every single raindrop,
I the imitation of a lesser God, though I may
not be so small and able, I the perfect paradox,
wearing shoes without socks and beds without
blankets, and I the gravitational pull, sitting smoking
at the center of the universe, and I the holy caterpillar,
turning my lungs into butterflies, and I the unbreakable
bond, the glue that holds all love together,

And I the King of hearts,
a prisoner in my house of cards

So sick of this war,
Keeps pulling me under.
So tired of this monster
And it's brutal force
Keeps pushing me to suffer.

What ever happened to the good times?
The laughs,
The love,
The happiness?
What ever happened to support?

The demons push,
Shove,
beat, bruise, batter.
Making my world a dull one.
Filled with nothing but Crimson liquid and tears
Year after year.

Look at me,
What have I become?
Another victim,
Another pawn for their entertainment.

Life contains many flaws that's beneath the skin, like a touch to the hand or a cloth to the face. Bullets never had a name, but the target did, why must every action involved hate or deceit? People blindly dismiss right for wrong as if every problem will be solved with a blink of an eye, but the thing is; to really be free, we must let peace roam to the center of the heart in order to be stable again with one another.

I desire a mouthful of fire
I need to bleed bliss
I require a bed made of pyre
I want more than this

She can cut diamonds.

There will always be
Some hard elements
Scattered along the way
But she will be at it
Because she can cut diamonds.