The picture by your bedside crumbles
It seems like pleasant times are growing thin
The sun is gray and the sky is falling in
And the streets are streaming with haemoglobin

You sank too deep
Midst the ghostly fleets
Now they've found your bones
They're human, yet unknown
Your earthly past, defiled
With wings connected to your spine

We saw the soul collector
Fading through the mirror

You've flown too high
On wings of fire
Trying to catch the sky
A sunshine suicide.