In the lake arms we are lost in eachothers reflections.

The porclain lake will crack into all the peices of pain we cannot reach by the sea. Wither whith ( in) our lengths of ache yet even thoughtful

There so tall, so lets Widé upp the fouls wrap with the planet around it.

Its Madness its sadness its reality

The pain comes out with everything

and we simply cannot reach with our bare arms

My kittel cocoon in this vast bast coldness

Its defined with real fiction of profound insights and renowned acheivments

This world brakes hearts with excusiating pain of silence and hurt, 

but it also heals, it also heals oh yes it also so unforgetably heals

I can almost smell your tears on the paper i wrote this on

The pain came out whith all we couldnt reach