Mutilated images   It looks the same, feels the same   Pointing at you again   Can't help myself asking you how?   Where is our path?   It's not a phase   It will come back again   As soon as you forget   What is your excuse?   The mind is a lack of existence      In time we'll heal all open wounds   Still we'll remain the puppeteers   Open up the doors, lock them up behind us   Blended by the winter light as the worlds collide      We'll feed the storm again   Beauty stole my sight   We'll fall into the same   Cycling game again      It's not a phase   Bring this world to an end      As the fractures strife your eye   We enjoy our masquerade   Through the days of convicted grief   The action slowly fades   As the countdown reach the end   And shimmering light starts to burn   We still remain the puppeteers   It's too late to make a turn      we'll feed the storm again   Beauty stole my sight   We'll fall into the same   Cycling game again      It's not a phase   Bring this world to an end