Phoenix - His sofa, a balancing knife Contrasts on a paper from the mind of a prodigy An outcast, fulfilling self-inflicted prophecies With a life he'll concentrate on when this is over But from now on he's alone, contemplating on his sofa His sofa - standing alone Standing strong, the place that his life got stranded on It was handed on to him, from generation to generation From father to son, a sofa decorated with decorations It came in a package, it was wrecked and shackled And not like it matters but it came partially damaged Beautiful arm rests, carved combining soul with matter And sculptured flowers looking like growing patterns His life, the sofa, giving pleasureful riches He built it up, trusted it, grew simultaneously with it The sofa settled in his mind, grew stronger every day He slept his day's away cause he couldn't stay awake A future not meant for him, crossing his path, it was Nothing in fact, so he asked if there was something he lacked and God responded back with an ironical laugh... Waking up, he realised reality, received consciousness It was the cause of his troubles, it was common sense His sofa - the reason why he troubled commonwealth His family showed condolence, but they lacked with compliments and his confidence slacked... Pitch black, a sofa, once filled with pals So he shooked his eyes... and the sofa took his life The crooked lies, a never-ending continuing fight A bottomless pit... a blown out inner light Some contrasts on a paper from the mind this prodigy An outcast, fulfilling self-inflicted prophecies With a life he'll concentrate on when this is over But from now on he's alone, contemplating on his sofa his eyelids are heavy, his hands are heavy his life is empty as he falls asleep for the last time...