These dying embers of repressed ambition: I forsake. This crying performance of mortality: I leave behind. God may forgive you, but I never will. Et in arcadia ego... We never really had a chance to build this house, even when we tried so hard, stone by stone, piece by piece, i've built it in my head. I think I started living there, while what we really had, was turning into ... into dust. It was full of stairs and mirrors and reflections, like a castle of wishes adorned with deception. No one has ever came to my door, But I think i saw, i saw you try. "You must find this place in your heart for the one you love the most!" - That is myself. "Why do you say that?, you never wet this road before!" - You made me observe. It was full of stairs and mirrors and reflections, like a castle of wishes. Each word, each cut, open wound. I stitch them up, but my scars, will do a lifetime with me. I loathe the faith I had. I despise this hope forlorn. Through the ashes of intention, life is a one man show. I came to the point, where happiness is what is left to the willing. I throw a match behind my back. This house took years to built and a moment to burn.