Each truth is made story
Sometime you imagine
Sometime your partner does
But then an imagination is mere imagination, not the reality
Silence and sound both then start to trouble
But we maintain to prevent things to get normal
To escape from the truth actually a made up story becomes horrible
Even then that's alright, yet the question is there to this world
When the world is deaf, dangerous filled with beautiful faces yet so cold
And the sheer coldness of the body I confess I can't hold... I can't hold
The sheer coldness of their and mine own body
Remind me, we all have to die someday
Then I get my solace to accept my defeat among the modern day walking deads.
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