The end.

The songwriter's dead. The blade fell upon him Taking him to the white lands Of Empathica Of Innocence Empathica Innocence

The dreamer and the wine Poet without a rhyme A widowed writer torn apart by chains of hell

One last perfect verse Is still the same old song Oh Christ how I hate what I have become

Take me home

Getaway, runaway, fly away Lead me astray to dreamer's hideaway I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world Forgive me I have but two faces One for the world One for God Save me I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world

My home was there 'n then Those meadows of heaven Adventure-filled days One with every smiling face

Please, no more words Thoughts from a severed head No more praise Tell me once my heart goes right

Take me home

Getaway, runaway, fly away Lead me astray to dreamer's hideaway I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world Forgive me I have but two faces One for the world One for God Save me I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world Whore for the cold world Whore for the cold world

Sparkle my scenery With turquoise waterfall With beauty underneath The Ever Free

Tuck me in beneath the blue Beneath the pain, beneath the rain Goodnight kiss for a child in time Swaying blade my lullaby

On the shore we sat and hoped Under the same pale moon Whose guiding light chose you Chose you all

"I'm afraid, so afraid. Being raped again, and again, and again I know I will die alone. But loved.

You live long enough to hear the sound of guns, long enough to find yourself screaming every night, long enough to see your friends betray you.

For years I've been strapped unto this altar. Now I only have three minutes and counting. I just wish the tide would catch me first and give me a death I always longed for."

Second robber to the right of Christ Cut in half - infanticide The world will rejoice today As the crows feast on the rotting poet

Everyone must bury their own No pack to bury the heart of stone Now he's home in hell, serves him well Slain by the bell, tolling for his farewell

The morning dawned, upon his altar Remains of the dark passion play Performed by his friends without shame Spitting on his grave as they came

Getaway, runaway, fly away Lead me astray to dreamer's hideaway I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world Forgive me I have but two faces One for the world One for God Save me I cannot cry 'cause the shoulder cries more I cannot die, I, a whore for the cold world Whore for the cold world Whore for the cold world

"Today, in the year of our Lord 2005, Tuomas was called from the cares of the world. He stopped crying at the end of each beautiful day. The music he wrote had too long been without silence.

He was found naked and dead, With a smile in his face, a pen and one thousand pages of erased text."

Save me

Be still, my son You're home Oh when did you become so cold? The blade will keep on descending All you need is to feel my love

Search for beauty, find your shore Try to save them all, bleed no more You have such oceans within In the end I will always love you

The beginning.