The conspiracy I've put myself into
Maybe made me breathing again,
But no matter which liberating relief is used
This view is still sad.

Just a hopeless shard of second to remember
And days start to count themselves,
In a story that ends in a fright
And breakthrough of lectures on shelves
A creeping portrayal of what I am

Black ink drips mixed with a truth on my fingers
That break themselves,
In agony of going through scaveging
Of my notorious love and hate.

But right after then, a sanguine colored angels
Circle around my solitary grave,
As I am no one
Without burdens on my back,
Without greed in my sacks,
Without my heart being grey,
Without me being a man,
A part of humanity and this disgrace

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