I am a dead chameleon, building God’s pavilion. I go back to my room, even though it's my doom. I guess I don’t care either way. I've got a place, but not a home. Though they say, "you are not alone!" I’m stuck in this hell. It’s a plea for help, this song I’m writing for them now.

I thought I would know what I want to do when I left - when I finally got the freedom I wished for. But in the end, the fact that I was a slave hasn’t changed. I was a slave to you, now I’m a slave to them; I still haven’t let it go.

All the times I miss, and the handmade gifts, and the legacy I’ve built - it all comes crashing down. I’m tired of being sold, I won’t do as I’m told. Even without your control, it’s like you’re still around. Never going back. Fuck that, never anymore. Breaking down my guilt, writing down my will. And so my past wilts until it’s dead and gone.

So it's another day inside, casting my magic spell on life. I don't feel alive. I just wanna hide; hide from this newfound stage of mine. Because this world is beautiful. And all these people, they are too. But an idol is not what I wished to be. So I would rather give up my dream.

And I will slowly suspend my breathing till it stops, so that when my art is gone, I will be be too. There's no point in existing in a world without these songs. Because music is life, yes. Throw away your pride. I'll throw away this life.

All the times I miss, and the handmade gifts, and the legacy I’ve built - it all comes crashing down. I’m tired of being sold, I won’t do as I’m told. Even without your control, it’s like you’re still around. I am pressing delete, defeat my insecurities. Breaking down my guilt, writing down my will. And so my past wilts until it’s dead and gone.

Cyrilia. Who are you, a God? Cyrilia. Who? Are you a God?

Cyrilia. (Cyrilia, our God!) Who am I, a God? (Cyrilia, a God!) Cyrilia. (Cyrilia, oh, God!) Who? Am I a God? (Cyrilia, a God?)

Who am I?