All genocide
is fratricide...

I think i must be high
can you be high on love...

Darling, I hate to be predictable,
but I must now be terribley cliche...

Look into the ocean blue,
and there you may just find...

Oh, beautiful bleeding
of the metaphoric kind...

Oh, silent sins,
written in icicles upon these walls...

Mirror Mirror
on the wall...

Running,
heart pounding...

In the pallid green of sunset
was a little fairy lost...

Feet thumping
on hard packed ground...

Wrapped up in the bitter lies of every day
arms straining to bring her free...

It's funny how this waltz
brings dancers only pain...