I ACT THE ROLE IN CLASSIC STYLE OF A MARTYR CARVED WITH TWISTED SMILE
TO BLEED THE LYRIC FOR THIS SONG TO WRITE THE RITES TO RIGHT MY WRONGS
AN EPITAPH TO A BROKEN DREAM TO EXERCISE THIS SILENT SCREAM
A SCREAM THAT'S BORNE FROM SORROW
I NEVER DID WRITE THAT LOVE SONG, THE WORDS JUST NEVER SEEMED TO FLOW
NOW SAD IN REFLECTION DID I GAZE THROUGH PERFECTION
