Girls for friends and boys to bleed,
Break this mirror and look at me.
It rains glass in a world of black;
No more is the urge to evade.
Chaos twirls around me now;
I can't see it, but I can feel it so.
A porcelain man extends his hand:
"Imitation is perhaps a sin."

I'm lifted to a world I've never seen;
Monotone fields have no end here.
I'm expelled backwards to the ground.
The sky rains blood-red water down;
The world is slowly stained.
My eyes are broken like that mirror;
The world is reflected in a thousand different ways.
The monotone flowers crumble like stone;
I'm returned to the black and woe.
The porcelain man caresses my face:
"My dear, to touch is a blessing of grace."

My head contains one hundred worlds,
But I can't tell which one is real!
How should all this make me feel...?
Imaginary friends and venomous bites;
The perpetual fall, spite-ridden
And sad. I scream for answers,
But there's but one response.
"These are matters of love..."