The memories that I had ever,

now belong to someone else.

In the summer I'm cold. In the winter-tender:

an empty mask, instead of face.

  There's no way to break my bones,

when I broke them hundred times.

My life is cage, made of thorns.

I didn't lived,  so I can't die.

  The feelings that I'd ever known,

are nothing but a meanless mess,

caused by fear and a weakness...

Without them I am free to rest.

  I lived. I died. It's all I know:

it's all that now has matter...

I walked. Now fly. No heart, no soul:

just the real-me,  which I hidded ever.   *Soulbanshee*