You’ve been rising for hours drinking in bliss
Every scar is a piece of your soul you shall miss
Every bee sting is a blissful mark that you hide
A bitter sweet thing, this sadistic muse, your pride
Every track a new path for your masochistic train
Every tear shed for you adds to the torrential rain
But you don’t care about the flood because your flying
And while you soar you bloody clan is bruised and dying
But then the wind finally is gone and gravity brings its heavy hand
And as you try to grasp your singed wings you rapidly fall to the land
You look into the crimson tapestry of the sky and fall into an endless hole
You sadly wonder why there are bloody strokes on the canvas of your soul.
it sounds sad.