Crawl along the glass, scraps of thoughts,
Etched into each one of these, words that I love.
Sounds drown the scent, anger repressed,
I'm scraping at these walls.
Tracing lines, an open canvas shading my world
With illusions of phantoms making refections.
Bleeding inks of grace, narrow in display,
Etched into each one of these, - words that I love.
Writing in severed thought.
Tracing lines, an open canvas shading my world
With illusions of phantoms making refections.
With illusions of phantoms making refections.
With illusions of phantoms shading my world.
Taking these lines from my hole.
Stripping everything I've ever even known.
You are trying now to find a way again you want.
Self-inflicted wounds to give the words a home.
Tracing lines, an open canvas shading my world
With illusions of phantoms making refections.
With illusions of phantoms shading my world,
Self-inflicted wounds to give the words a home.