Wretched faces. Wretched faces. This is nothing new to me, but still enraptured. Don’t keep grabbing the wind. This is a loaded gun, this is a loaded question. When can you stop? When is perfection? Maybe I’m already the one out.

Consolidate all your fears.

I can’t take this, nothing sacred. This is of course as told from the knife.
You painted your eyes to make them wide again. I tip my hat to the great, to the classics.

This is not my face; this is this week’s fear.
This is not my voice. They tell you to speak: the hesitation. This is not my fate. They can’t take it, take it away.
This is not mine anymore. Take hold, bring it all back down to the first love. This is not my fate. All in vain.