[Verse 1]
Eighteen reflecting the light of the sun in my eye, like thoughts of the past that still last 'spite the will of the fly
Art through the sonic supporting the souls of the shy, as black as the onyx that weights us with questions of "why?"
Our horns now vestigial, we flaunt them in vain, that which was regal beginning to wane
Our passion as strong as the ice keeping form of the rings that arch over our sky

[Verse 2]
We sleep to the thunder, we kiss to the rain, it's only the rhythm still keeping us sane
The sun's a reminder of all that's inane, so thank fuck for the thunder, thank fuck for the rain

[Verse 3]
Then came the centaur riding in from the south, stamping the memory of all I had been into the ground
The hoof is sharp, it shatters the scales from my waist down, that now fertilize the fields that give rise to passions abound