Windburned face insanity embrace wishful thoughts at making mire into gold, pave the way with blame when trouble calls my name, but the truth be told, I've always broke the mold.
Paint the sky with vanity and pride, my skull's too thin it's caving in, broken heart won't cure, no one knows for sure, twisted, evil grin I always win.

I'm choking on this source of doubt
I'm building up this lofty cloud
Bind my hands, take me to the river then, you'll see.

I'm making all this loss renound
I'm building up this lofty cloud
Take my hand, take me to the oceanside, you'll see.

[hardships of a creative mind trying to make it in everyday society and the struggle of functioning and interaction]