A piece of me, embroidered with ruby, is tucked away inside my conscious
To look in the face of darkness, it makes the heart start to pump
and the blood start to burn
It makes the nails dig into the palm
It makes the child inside start to weep
It's like a match set to kerosine
Rising through my skin outwardly till there's no place left to burn
But fire doesn't cleanse, it blackens
And these rubies grow, jaggedly so
On the heart
Like a twisted armor made of thorns
One does not protect, but is masked by the title
The deepest cuts are from the inside
As I cling onto the delicate fabrics
Sanity in the wake of destruction
with a lover called despair and tragedy
Winding down the road
The most sorrowful lullaby is playing it's last progression
And the box is shut
From you, unto me, is the greatest misery
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