I have drawn a little picture,
a shapeless image of existence.
Let us destroy the evidence of what once was.
On my way down to the shores of decay,
I've been wasting my time with a vision of this everlasting day,
and my body was passing away.
Something's got to change, inside and outside,
in another world, with another sun, under a different sky.
I try to cut my arms and feel no pain for I don't exist:
I'm as dead as my veins are dry.
On my way down to a new form of light,
I've been burning my eyes like an insect
I'll be flying tonight, waiting for a new story to start.
I cannot breathe any longer the poison of a reality I have lost.
I will forget my name and rise
from the ashes of a past life.
On my way back to the place I came from,
I realised it was much too late
and everything then was gone with the irony of fate:
I was made of hate.
On my way down to the shores of decay,
I've been wasting my time but I do not care anymore today,
for I have [bad word] something else.