Your room is a cave, far beyond our sight. 
There’s something primeval about it,
there’s something in this light.
Abundance of water,
oxygen to spare,
here we can bloom.
Disconnected from all,
warm and secure,
this place is our womb.

 

Strings of neon lights stretch across your wall,
soothing and warm,
Is this your attempt at catching the us all?
Now comes the night,
and if we get lucky,
we’ll see a star,
fall and ignite.

 

This place is a haven,
for all of us,
lost souls. 
You offer sweet comfort, 
you show us remorse.

 

Fill our tummies with green tea, 
blind us with your neon lights.
Once we're calm and half asleep,
crawl inside into our minds.

 

Tell us the story of the big orange tree,
a beast fights a girl who wants to be free.
Push your gentle fingers into our hearts,
promise us bliss.
Heaven is the word you whisper:
“You see? Heaven does exist!”

 

Gentle fingers tear our hearts apart,
whispers turn to waves of flaming tar.
Oxygen is nowhere to be found.
Our skin is boiling. 
Our bodies drown.

 

Disconnected from all,
warm and secure,
this place is our womb.
Disconnected from all,
locking us in,
this place is our tomb.