When I met you. You were so unique. You had a little thing I'd love to keep. Every movement. Carried much mystique. I knew right then I'd carry on. To you I knew my heart belongs.
My head's under pressure baby. Life's the same. It's like a suicidal incubator cooking my brain. There must be some sonic infiltrator making the strain.
He sees the stormy anger of the world. And wants no part of it at all. And as the weeping leaves of Autumn curl. He feels the savage winter call. See far below the dust of conflict settles on the hill.