A hot and humid Sunday
Faces, faces everywhere
Then a face, I remember my face years ago
Such fear
This is my day
Oh, and I can dream above the buried cry
Because I've got something better
And it might just be my own, for good
Many psychic scars in just his short few years
In the noise of his silence, he ran away from the violence
To heal
This is my day, and I can see the wreckage in my head
Although it's not the same, because I transform the pain, for good
I transform the pain, for good