I awoke only to find my lungs empty, and through the night so it seems I'm not breathing,
and now my dreams are nothing like they were meant to be, and I'm breaking down, I think I'm breaking down.
And I'm afraid to sleep because of what haunts me, such as living with the uncertainty that I'll never find the words to say which would completely explain just how I'm breaking down.

I've become the simple souvenir of someone's kill, and like the sea I'm constantly changing from calm to ill.
Madness fills my heart and soul, as if the great divide could swallow me whole...

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