I spend the night sitting naked, writing for the whole world to see, for the whole world to know, for me to just be. For the world to understand who I am, but it's hard to get known with shaking hands. It's a show where I am the audience as well as the star, and sometimes I think if maybe, yes maybe, have I taken this too far? Do you know who you are? Do I know who I am, who am I, what is me? I might as well die, let everybody to see who I am, open myself up, spilling my blood in little tea cups and let the vampires drink, see what they think. Left alone those who want to taste, those who won't forget who I am, no, not just yet. Yet I share this with no one, no one knows who I am, what I feel, where I belong. I keep singing for myself, my very own secret song. A song without rhythm, without melody, without voice. I want to make enough noice, noice, noice! An alarming voice to wake myself up, but I stay as silent as ever. Oh please, open my lips, let my hymn be heard! May it echo between tall buildings, streetlights, road signs, may every bird sing as loud and clear and beautiful as they will ever sing! For my hymn is strong enough to spread it's wings and fly from ear to ear, telling all the secrets for those willing to listen, willing to hear a truth beyond any truth ever heard before, stories they all will adore! May it be heard in secret fights between intense looks from silent eyes, let's not disturb the holy silence of the quiet, calm night. May my tiny little whispers spread like wildfires to all the people willing to listen, to those who I admire, to those who admire me! After all, they are the only ones who will see...