It rolls over like a cold cobra inside the dome,
double trouble, you standing beside your clones.

Grip so tight, cracked the ribs on right,
no feeling, heart beating ,he was hypnotized.

Cold on ice with those crystal eyes,
dialated like pupils and he's victimized to live that life,
he picturized a dream theater ,projected on a system's lie.

Drowning in binge with a hypodermic syringe,
numbness on every inch of skin,
getting rid of the prospect within,
a dead on the land of living.

But once he asked for happiness in the wish list,
Santa gifted him anti-depressants on Christmas.

Grew anti-social like Russian badger,
submerged in sands of time, like a Persian dagger,
climbing on the ladder of anger, he was madder with manners,
walking with evil a laugher and hammer,
painting his bloody life, he smashed the canvas.

So, when he straps off his violence,
for him, the temple of silence is the mental asylum.