Woorden: Circle Of Dead Children. Four Walls and a Feeling.

Disfiguring the memory
So silent
So serene
One eye shut for the past
One eye opens for tomorrow's dream
Mark her the one
The one who will stand alone
Pitter-patter of dry-rotted love
Plunging, dropping, splashing into heaven's eighth lake
And casting a disfigured reflection of life in its eight rings
Dry flaking tincture under one-inch fingernails
So follow her home

Follow her to reprisal so sweet
Crying help to a barren room
Barren walls
Romance in monotone
She will never miss you
We will never miss you