To write another song of heartbreak.
To lose the will to live again.
To write another song of hatred.
To feel the urge to kill again.
The same old tired numbness.
Nothing different but the pen.
I'm bleeding nonetheless.
I don't think I'll try again.
Instead I'll draw close to Christ and prove myself to Him.
I find me all by myself again and see that I am free from within.
The urge to seek the comfort of another angel's arms has died with everything else...
I'm dead to you...
Solitude is safety in my own arms.