We make our own paradise. It may still be pouring now but we’ll create sunshine.
In black and white, high upon a stage, the angel sang. The wind carried her beautiful voice across the whole trampled meadow.
I keep my demons alive. They can’t die as long as I live.
Many have tried to kill the beasts in my head but they only created more.
Let’s compare scars, I’ll tell you whose are worse.
For so much self-pity, I’m pretty goddamn complacent.