confined to a room inside my psychenlight reflects direct at pupils to spite menrightly, time to board windows to existencenin an effort to approach coming days with less resistancenI can see your shadow, image means even lessnwith a soliloquy of similes you spark to impressnI'm dejected by the fact I hear them through these wallsnI feel rejected but intact from all the demons it lullsnstrumming chords to a broken soul, self-righteous repentancenwith full acceptance of the future he now sees as a sentencenif I was feeling your fantasy, to life I'd derivengiven the chance to glance at me, I know you'd never survivenI show you walls and you can sing to them, awaiting the daynthat I might greet you at the door to make the clouds go awaynsimply to say that that's impossiblenthe lifestyle I've chosen has left corrosion, now my woes are inoperablenn(chorus:)nit's everythingnit's everything- his wings have returnednit's like the fall of competition, like he's never been burnednit's nothingnit's nothing, just a passing effectnalthough it had some inspiration, it was all indirectnit's everythingnit's everything, it warms the heartnit was complete compatibility, communed from the startnit's nothingntemptation only time reservesnbecause it's everything he wants and nothing that he deservesnnthe rain splashes off our facesnbut every time I leave the room, it's like the wind's trying to chase usnhaste creates nothing but trash, and so says a maximnwith significance on minutes for the person who lacks themnpaints the portrait of disparity with passing breathnand formulates the frivolities that will fashion his deathndepressed, little to no light now enters the roomnbut our protagonist's an agonist for leaving too soonnand when he does exit, she always makes him at homenwhen he returns, he drags the weight of sad states that he ownsnhe writes poems, hoping someday that they might be readneven dictates them verbatim right off the top of his headnlike an unconscious force has found fuel within his sufferingnbegging her to break barricades and start discoveringntwo egos interact and distraction's the gamenbecause the second she steps in the room, she won't be the samenn(chorus)nnit's becoming more apparent, she's intrigued by the roomnsmart enough for suspicions but not sure what to assumenhe tightens up his defenses, reinforces, refutesnand just like spinning propellers, his dialogue convolutesninstituting further intrigue, it could have been deliberatensearching for responsiveness from every single syndicatenall in attempts to increase internal meritnif the rhetoric decreases, it's the beast that he'll inheritnoverwhelmed and narcissistic, time will claim it and wear itnsweating the heat of identity- he can no longer bear itnmaybe a dream or maybe conscious, the face will returnnthat causes spasms of synapses and the muscles to burnnopaque eyes, warped disguise, there is approach without motionnno warning, light fades, darkness starts to encroach himnhe only questions whether he was even given a choicenbut as he writes, a thought strikes, maybe she was the voicennoh god, what if she was?nnwhat was she trying to tell me?nn(chorus)