Born with a passion
So powerful you could even see
It's reflection in his fashion
Contrasted colours like a bee

Focus all your time on school
Don't worry about making a friend
Because all the same does our blood pool
When we open our last door to the end

Separating yourself from everyone distracting
With your growing amounts of study books piling up on the shelf
Mental health, disregarded, slowly subtracting
Maybe it is my fault that you ended up killing yourself

Wake up
Wake up
They are coming
They are coming

We don't have long, so get ready
There's no more room in your bag for teddy
You have to run fast, or the ships will get us
We don't have time, so stop your squealing and fuss

Get undercover, get underground
Lets just hope we don't get found
I love you dearly, and I hope you love me too
I'm going to take you for ice cream when this is through

Don't cry baby, I'm here for you dear
There's no need to be sad when your mothers here
This isn't the first time, nor is it the last
Maybe we won't get caught next time if we're fast

When the charming sun casts a shimmering shine upon you
It's formidable feeling of joyous content penetrates your soul
The warmness of it's rays could lullaby Rome's army to sleep
With it's light cherished by all that bear witness to its beauty

When the moon appears in the dark window to space
The past memory of the charming sun is reminded
With the dimness of the moons modest glimmer
And the feeling of melancholy brings desires of the morning

But when the sun eventually comes back around
Casting its happy light for all to bath in and worship
A surprising feeling pervades your train of thought
An unlikely intrusion that begins to call panic

You can't recall what the light of the moon looked like
It was ignored, the only object that was shadowed by the sun
For how can we simple beings comprehend true beauty
If theres nothing to compare our beauty to.

Desperation is hurling yourself at the Devil praying to find Heaven
Real triumph comes from careful dictation of every move
Not oblivious, but obsessed
Obsessed with bettering yourself, cutting off your bad branches

When I wake up, I see no bad branch
All the branches look just the same
But sometimes, I notice that they look droopy
Out of place, different to other trees

You see, sometimes if you convince yourself you're so much better
That once healthy obsession, turns into bitter desperation
Kiss your elderly oak goodbye, as the Devil takes it away
But I won't notice it happening, can you wake me up when its time?