22:27.

I wish I have the words to paint landscapes
Pretty hues and tragic tunes
It's not a fancy, or is it?

My hand's soaked with fabric and sore from brushing
On my walls my murals speak
Wait a minute, what is it?

Slowly, slower, the music slows me
Then beating quickly, the rhythm moves me
Is my reflection bloody?

Dorian Gray.

Lullaby, sweet sweet sound
Pray


Shhhhhhh