(A continuation of a what would be probably a story plot.)

Not tonight, boy? Not tonight? Tonight, it seems, the moon forgot to fall down. My eyes are drawing pretty circles of empty and the rain comes down in crimson and violet.

I asked myself what was the beginning and the end. Doesnt matter to me anymore, boy. I sing tonight, like a nightingale, your nightingale. And I wait here, in this haunted cell, for my king to redeem me and bring me home. But don't forget boy! I am the pawn in your master plan! The core that keeps you here! Don't you fucking forget that!

Lovers, so in love with themselves like wet sand to their feet, write their names obsessedly on insubstantial medium. For hope that the waves will carry their hopes to reality land. The walls my canvas, the veins my paint pots, Another picture resurfaces tonight. Tomorrow, they'll scream and sink to their knees. But let's paint and sing tonight.

Listen to me! Hear my convictions and witness my faith, nothing feels real anymore. I'm not gonna try to get out of here anymore. So I'll wait, tonight. Just tonight, boy. And you will return to this abyss with me. We'll go further down, further than we have ever went, but not tonight, not tonight.