With not a worry in your mind
You'd have twelve days
This parade, yes the Black one,
Dances in its own Misery
Its misery to not be,
To not be malfunctioning

Because you see,
Her parade has no intention
Of trying anything extreme
Nor anything stupid for that matter

As startling as it sounds,
This broken record has its Fears
Fears not holding,
holding onto the same ideas.
With no control over the player
It is a skipping now,
More than a broken sound
Broken sounds that fill my heart
You'll never know

Synesthesia plays over and over
No, not the song
But the condition of the heart
Where I confuse myself more and more
Sideways, it seems, I'm drawn into the path
The path led by the condition

Soft spoken words spoken Uniquely
Haunting your prescence.
I've never felt this calm(You're the Reason).