Entering a district of sorrow, I can sense it,
tears of joy, mingling with a cry of pain,
when comforting colors of an infernal sunset,
are slowly turning into the dark shades of demented rain.

The train wont stop here, I assure you,
it will ride on and on over the deserted plane,
the lake of eternal youth lays before you,
but you are too blind to maintain.

It's too late for now, it's too dark,
the train had far gone, to embark,
on a further dimension of sorrow,
like a match that was lit to a spark.

That's when you don't pay attention, to mirrors of self
reconstruct,
ambitions and self recognition, set 10 years to self
destruct.
The whisper of devils inside you, your left ear is soon to
explode,
the terror of truth been told like fake gold, shining, too
heavy to hold.