Mixing it up in Paris

It is unknown when you lose yourself,

To your emotions,

They are beyond your curbed fantasies,

Rangling them can always be hell,

In an old-fashioned sense,

Try to see what you can do,

And maybe the silence will help you,

Find your lost toys,

Among many bad times,

In a vicious cycle of addiction,

Where the tongue is a powerful weapon,

Misused by many,

No-one can tell you any different,

Make all of them blabber and get out of control,

The silence is always Golden,

In societies standards,

Maybe the picture books will help us to rewind,

Battle on my wounded soldier.