A wooden cross, an angel's bed. Decked with nails and strewn in red. And empty garden, our dooming fate. Which day by day we tolerate. A ruined world, a gaping hole.
Your money isn't power, so forget the green. It's just feeding the fuel. What makes the world go round?. The same thing that lights the flame to burn it down.
He can't avoid conflict, he's lost 'cause he's incomplete. He's in between, somewhere in between. In between the sleepless shadows. Battling to break the love that's guaranteed.