Your dreams will fade, and self loathing comesnThe age-old curse of the clinically numbnTurned on bright lights, a wax wing demisenIn cut glass bowls you find endless desiren(But I don’t mind)nStrangers call my name through the nightnVictims of a social suicidenThrough white homes and far away signsnBurns a wind like fire in God’s own eyesnSunlight climbs, through holes of black lightnA day in my life and you can see through timen(People die)nStrangers call my name through the nightnVictims of a social suiciden(Call me, into the night they call me)