Stormy weather
In the cracks of an altered art
Hold my form together
As a solemn [?]
I know that the marvel makes up the things I see
And fills me with affection
But I will lose the vision of individuality
If I go in this direction
Dirty fingers
Washing down
The need for thinkers
To concede to clowns
But I don't feel sold
For morning's sake
It'd be more insane
To sit here mourning saints
I can't think no more
I can't think no more
I'm no [?] conception of my reality
I'm a brave mid from imperfection
Does the answer lie within me, true dualities
If there's no meaning upon reflection?
I need answers
I need answers
I need answers
I need answers, I need answers