I’d said before, that the road i’ve choosen should be wrong side of heaven. The past i’ve missed could be the future of living. I’m in the mirror;

The man with his beards, with is faith for nothin’

Silhouette of his pieces, pieces of scars in the midnight. Sun has gone down, no more light when no one left and the dark approached me again.

Wicked Game on the radio, it’s playing and i’m feeling weird when it’s about to end.