flooding the emblem of my aureole,
falling, falling, falling down again,
I don’t believe in anything but me,
everything is everything speaks the smoke to its Muse,
curb your enthusiasm and up your cynicism,
love isn’t logical,
the desperation of the phantom which disperses his idiosyncrasies upon me
burns, burns, burns my inner inspiration.
Who is the phantom but the shadow of I?
Searching for perfection I find the corrosion of I,
awoken when I understood human life is imperfection,
but still I keep on dreaming in search for the impossible.