• Open plains before my eyes,
    Gentle clouds sail on the skys,
    The oceans roars behind the trees,
    And quiet hum of passing bees.

    But at the end, upon the edge,
    Demons march in from the ledge,
    From my mind they come to tear me down,
    Their thundering march without a sound.

    Who is it who stands with me?
    Who is it who hears my plee?
    My face turns pale, white like bone,
    i realise now, i stand alone.