There is a story that is too long to tell.
I write it on the walls of my cell.
These words are creeping my naked soul.
I'm bleeding tears like an open wound.
I also come from the cold square one.
Like all who choose to live their lives like a whore.

Now on the edge I'm still freezing.
I'm feeling old.
I feel like an old man with many scars to show.

With the shortest straw in my hand.
I'm just a shade of my past.
All the doors are closed and so is my heart.
These are my hands shaking, reaching for shelter,
praying for someone to drag me out of the flames that burn.
I thought I've seen it all but my eyes were not open.
Now when I can see I'm already burned.

There is a wound that will never heal. Scars that you won't ever see.
They will allways one with my soul.
Will they ever leave me alone?
I'm lost in a place where the dreams die.
Embraced by my own death.

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