Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog
Where no one notices the contrast of white on white
And in between the moon and you the angels get a better view
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
I walk in the air between the rain through myself and back again
Where? I dont know
Maria says shes dying through the door I hear her crying
Why? I dont know
As for step at the point where no one who likes front entryway illusion in the fog becomes aware in contrast of white of white and month and you between that you were wrong, me who obtain the outline where the difference which breaks between the right is better you passing by your, between the rain with the air to walk the angel for the second time at the back section place? As for me passing by the door which inquires about that me who do not know her you shout the Mary who has died is shes, why? I do not know
