Shame Provoked secrecy Biography

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Hung in the beat between the butterflies wings
The angel of the shadows comes down and sings.

Tragically beautiful was her eerie song,
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How must one compose what’s really in their head,
I hear screaming from a distant past of mourners around her bed.
Pushed back into the shadows,
cast aside like a dripping filthy cloth,
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When the folds of the mattress come to get you at night
You know it’s time to live outside your head
When you constantly think that people judge what you do
You try not to care instead
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I want to be a musician
I’ve got the music in my head,
I want to play the piano
And let the chords explain what I said
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