Our shadows are paintings of our souls,
dark, empty.
It made me loose control.
It presents me like the night sky,
drained me of my light.
But I still had the stars in my eyes.
Every now and then they explode,
and my whole entire body electrifies.
I'm bright just like the sun,
but the sun is still just another star in the sky.
We all have constellations tracing through our veins and minds.
Only if we could connect the dots.
So cut it open,
let the blood rise to the surface and drain from an open wound,
and for a second you'll see clearer.
But now try to stand,
you'll travel through space and time.
Stretch your arm and reach.
Do you feel stronger?
It doesn't matter, you can't stop now.
You have gone too far this time.
The blood will rise again
and the constellations still won't make sense.
And you'll be running out of time
because one thing always leads to another.
All you focus on is if the stars make sense.
But darling, you are screwing with your own reality.
You have always created your own constellations but you are blinded by the romance of when they do not add up.
