We should be all over indeed,
Our senses are disappearing,
Ashes violated by the wind,
Like your memories.
Are you conscious of yourself?
Are you just afraid of dying?
Music's like memory that never dies.
When the sky was getting brighter,
He came running into the garden,
He saw his long blade shine,
Killing his selfish and tired side.
Consciously I've chosen my music,
You can use it when you need it,
In the storm of your desperate time,
In the middle of sorrow.
Your last sunshine spends its rays on your life,
This could be an escape, and no one really knows what have you seen,
I just cant's seem to be what you have seen.