A weak mind in search of pity
His brain is erupting
A young face ready to be betrayed
Alone, depressed, internally destroyed
He never tried to fight
To discover his own life
Now he's just a toy
A toy one step from halt
It's eleven o'clock
His anxiety is great
Only 30 minutes till madness arrives
There's no mystery
Ifs all routine
He doesn't feel hunger, pain or love
Almost midnight the high arrives
The dose is strong
His anxiety is great
The needle relights the night
It's midnight
He's dead!
Born under the eyes of the moon
The arms of death can't embrace them
His gift is unique
It's the sign of fire
He knows his mind is eternal
From him
His life is dominated by premonitions
His truth
There isn't and never was an explanation
His power sometimes
Is stronger than his mind
It invades every thought
Everyone says
He is the illuminated
But in really nobody knows
He feels
His reaction
Controlling
His reason
Restless visions
Consume his mind
He doesn't judge
Himself a prophet