A picture made out of words. Not strokes from the painter's brush. The colors are not blended by hand but blended by the mind. A long book, and this song is just a chapter. I write lots of words, But they don't seem to say anything after all. Now that you are here, I can tell you that madness, is your guardian of fear. We must return to the scenery where we were pulled apart. Name the time and place, the area, the space.
