It is I, who stabbed the man.
The man who I have stabbed, in my very head.
Sorrow and hatred for that man.
The man is bleeding below the hand.
“Save me! Save me!”, bellows the man.
As blood is pulled from his helpless hand.
If only sorrow and hatred did not stand,
People would hear the cries of that man.
“I do not want your problems friend”
Not the problem that follows the man.
Where a lonely mirror stands.
My mind fills with red, from the blood of that man.
Times were hard.
Harder than stone.
Maybe if my heart,
Was as hard as stone.
Maybe my heart,
Won’t be so forlorn.
Now the man is dead.
Cold as stone...
The man is back!
Sorrow and hatred is not the man!
But happiness and joy from the man...
There's another man!
Sorrow and hatred is that man.
They look at each other.
It is happening again.
In front of the mirror.
Where the man stands.