I'm writing reports of the days and the nights. 
Locked up for years in a measure of mind. 
When with a net of nothing. 
I was trying to catch the motions of a mind. 
And the methods of a crime. i never saw the chance. 
And never what i held in my hands. 
The lights are all red in this town. 
Where i'm killed by exhausts. 
And alcohols that dry out my skin. 
I never had a clue of the role that i played. 
But that's the condition and the price that we pay