Woorden: Soil. Scars. Black 7.

All felt is good here
All felt is just fine
Like a rapture waiting to dine on the divine

It moves across me and sets me free
Open oh so gently

Loss of time is felt here
Burning brick in my mind
Like a cancer growing in the minds of the divine

Don't roll me over
Cant help these things I can feel
Couldn't see them coming
But I've given into what's been given
Take a taste of what's within
You cast me over
Yet I've risen and I am real

I am the little cracked mirror