Beauty walks a razors edge, someday I'll make it mine.
The truth was obscure, Too profound and too pure, To live it you had to explode
The purpose of art is to stop time.
Good intentions can be evil, both hands are full of grease. You know, sometimes Satan comes as a man of peace.
In the fury of the moment/ I can see the Master's hand In every leaf that trembles, in/ every grain of sand.
Everything that I'm saying You can say it just as good