Texty: Caliban. Vent. New Kind Of Freedom.

Sweet sins scars my horizon.
Got nothing to expect in this emotional unstable time.
Looking forward there is a meanningless life to go.
Path of sorrow! Age of decay!
Pictures of wrong decisions veils my sleep but the lines are drawns.
Nothing could release me. Am I born to excuse my way of thinking?
Am I force to justifiy who I am? Death.
Sweet death could be a mercyful fate.
Delivered of despair.
New kind of freedom.
A new kind of face.