MY HANDLING IS NOT UP TO THE SKY
19 years of my age
can only crawl
Give hope without merit
I don't have my power
heed the excitement of my gold machine
turn the contents of my head for fists not to arrive
laughed at the fate of me
black cry above me
But still, I still don't recognize my janitor's house
Since then, I'm afraid to open my petals
I thought that I was looking up at the sky
But only in the bars of my pink brain
I changed my memory to the results of meaningful ink porters
But still, it's not for me
"Dream of hiding" I said
But it's too beautiful for my house in a slam
Just give me back to my best friend