My home has mastered the act of wearing the devil as a character
Everything here is a shadow of another body     
                                                                                 even the night  comes in the mask of hell at the sight of dawn                                                       
we mastered saying goodbye faster than      
                                                                                        living my father is a chapter of a grieving testament where everything       
darkens so we'll we mold ashes out of ourselves.    
                                                                           The news headlines flaunts a girls who crawls slowly into dust.            
I fear I might be after her. My mum says much about     
                                                  contentment so I teach myself how to love my country. Suddenly I remember 

broken things doesn't love. I have thought myself how  
                                                                       to crawl into love by spelling it backwards. On the highway a young boy teach 
me how to pray before his body kiss the soil but I fear   
                                                                          that a prayer is a torture to my tongue, I do not wish to trade my words for                            emptiness.