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Gackt in Paris
Jul. 22nd, 2010 | 12:07 am
mood: 
accomplished
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Feedback
Mar. 8th, 2010 | 10:36 pm
Please leave me feedback here:)
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MY MASTER
Feb. 2nd, 2010 | 07:30 pm
location: Poland, Kraków
mood: 
indescribable
music: Gackt -Oblivious
Lost inside my sick head
I live for you but I'm not alive
I live for you but I'm not alive
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I spent time up in the castle turret
Feb. 2nd, 2010 | 06:59 pm
location: Poland, Kraków
mood: 
melancholy
I spent time up in the castle turret,
in my previously unfinished state.
The memory of the sins I committed has already faded away.
Wandering lost amidst the forest, turning here and there,
I was finally dragged by my golden hair and trapped in a rocky prison.
Day by day this dream comes to me.
So this dream must have been true.
I was born in a furnace, I was made from steel.
I have no soul,
and these things they call friends, I do not understand.
I have no emotions.
They are not important to me, so one day I burned them all away.
I chose MY MASTER and became his servant, kneel before him, be abused and whipped, despised;
this is how I want to live.
Dresses with layers and layers of frills.
Bandages for the deeper wounds.
Stories, where these delusions were born.
A cute little inhuman doll.
A candle and a candlestick.
They point their fingers and laugh, with many people,
Those who love me merely a little.
Trifled with, the stiff jointed dolls.
Teddy bears from which chips fly out.
And only one thing with which to gaze through to reality, a mirror.
in my previously unfinished state.
The memory of the sins I committed has already faded away.
Wandering lost amidst the forest, turning here and there,
I was finally dragged by my golden hair and trapped in a rocky prison.
Day by day this dream comes to me.
So this dream must have been true.
I was born in a furnace, I was made from steel.
I have no soul,
and these things they call friends, I do not understand.
I have no emotions.
They are not important to me, so one day I burned them all away.
I chose MY MASTER and became his servant, kneel before him, be abused and whipped, despised;
this is how I want to live.
Dresses with layers and layers of frills.
Bandages for the deeper wounds.
Stories, where these delusions were born.
A cute little inhuman doll.
A candle and a candlestick.
They point their fingers and laugh, with many people,
Those who love me merely a little.
Trifled with, the stiff jointed dolls.
Teddy bears from which chips fly out.
And only one thing with which to gaze through to reality, a mirror.
