There are books that give me nightmares
The ones I read the pages as if I'm enchanting devils
And everytime he sees me, devastated with the words
He knew he had to ask the question
Why do you still read something that could destroy you?
A song answered, "another version of me I was in it"
I grin, and perhaps made the enchanted devils shiver
I answered him, to remind me that I'm still human
That I still feel things that perhaps angels wouldn't
So ask me again, why do I read something that could destroy me
To know that aside from love, I can still feel fear,
That aside from joy, I can know where sadness is from
That I can ask brokenheartedly, why there is such suffering?
To face the devil and have the audacity to grin bigger than him
