Buried in my wishes and portraits,
Deep in a syncopated longing,
I had to break through the shell of you,
And climb out of your wreckage,
To see myself untamed and wild.
Maybe you might understand me,
Why RAGE is the name I give,
To this way out of this darkness.
When they drag you down to THEIR ground,
And pull you onto THEIR stage –
To explain why YOUR curves are finite,
Why some things are made to bend,
And some things are made to break –

She tried to hold a little life inside her,
To keep her dance out of the Piper’s hands,
Walking herself back from the collapsing brink,
Of the living dead and the waking dread,
Holding on for the miracle of a golden dawn,
While the wheel of fortune kept turning,
For the true ecstasy of the future arriving –
But as every good masochist knows,
Tomorrow never comes until today goes.
Maybe you will wait there patiently
And let your fears wash themselves away,
While she moves these mountains for Mohammed,
To see whether he really wants her to stay.

We both know the truth is in between,
The radiating centre and those ties that bind,
Thought I knew the ways I could give
From the ways I had to leave behind,
Between dreams far and dreams gone,
Between terrible noise and beautiful song…
There you kept my picture and my wish,
So I thought I’d lend an ear and listen.
Knowing how to love an echo with your voice,
Is like finding your own love for singing.
And though I might still be in pieces,
At least now it’s my own light I’m bringing