Every time it’s going to be different, it isn’t is it?
Every time it’s going to change,
it just ends up staying the same doesn’t it?
 Am I the only one to find this movement strange,
maybe it’s all inside my brain
chemical imbalance sent it all deranged,
and so time follows with it’s rage,
pent up show on stage,
exhibition kept in a small brown cage,
squeezing breathing in tight,
on the side laid against the wall
to make it through the barbed wired wall,
scratched and maimed
just to say “this is my life, come feel my pain”
after you hear it, you won’t remain,
that’s even if you stay to hear it all,
see how the angel can free fall,
fallen angel raped and mauled
while on its descend to the green floor,
love shattering at a time when it’s mattering,
there can’t be much more.
Reminiscing on time’s these wings would soar,
twist and turn an’ all,
dazzling display extravagantly displayed,
now only a little spark may make it this way,
the floor find’s it’s way,
pushing the force back all the way
when it passes need glasses to replace
the vision which shattered, are we alive?
Did it happen?
It’ll be different next time,
nothing will dampen,
it’ll be different next time,
someone will turn the lamp on,
it’ll be different next time we will be the champion.
Every time it’s going to be different isn’t it?
Is it just a disgrace to hope it’s the murder time wrote.