the day the world turned into grey,
the shadows took away his name,
and now he is dragging down everything.
And all the flowers are wrotten when he tryes to smell, 
he never seen a light.
His tongue is like an evil knife scratching his own spine, 
and he is turning into a stone,
and there he walks,
the sun on his face,
golden beams through the trees,
a sun that wasn't born from the grace.
So it's a one two three,
another kind of me inside,
anoher kind of 1, 2, 3 just another one., 
And it's a one two three ,
another version of me - inside,
another kind of 1 , 2 , 3 just another one.