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Refusing to see all of those minds
Just to feel better in your own
Asking yourself why and how to share all those
And more this nightmares of that lost
Closed recipient filled of spikes

enter my private desires
Bad habits are forever
Pushing the door of a reality
For the science or any other

Metaphor of
Blood red
Altar of
Razor's cuts macabre breath of
Remembering old

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The wounds created by the
Seem to be by all of us
of colors
Blood red
of flesh razor's cuts
Closed filled of ominous spikes

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Little by little truth's blood among us as an empty river
I'm like you the black side
To reason and to kill the ideal