I wished to God that I would die tonight. I can't say goodbye.
I wished that sorrow didn't have to flower over her like that, and condemn her to her own heart.
I write music. To things that are new and beautiful.
I fought for greater glory, my heart just held me back.
When I write music I have infront of me a faded photograph, black and white. The glass cracked.
I write music. For hearts that get blacker until they can't can't black no more.
I've killed men with music. I've broken people to pityful depths.
Though my art I am a painter and a writer. And through my art I lie. My heart is only an instrument.
I write music. Because the soul bows to tradgedy. You are tragic.
My soul couldn't rest until I came to you. Though the music I create no longer has any meaning to me. I'm afraid it's too late.
There's nothing left in this painter.
I guess it's all about how lucky we are. That's all.