Standing by a window,
On this cold and rainy night,
In the reflection, there's just a person,
His hand on the unknown face,
Just thinking to himself:
"Oh, what a wonderful sight."

Empty bottles of Jack lie scattered on the floor,
He staggers through his unsteady head,
Dangerous thoughts appear that he can no longer ignore,
Voices begin to rise,
His hands clasp his ears,
"Oh, how I wish I was dead!"

Minute by minute, the conflict drags on,
The rain pounds on the window by his side,
Driving away any hope for a dawn,
When all of his demons are released that were trapped inside.

A maniacal laughter shakes his being,
Not a single f*** is left to give,
The thought of love is sickening,
"What is happening to me?" He cries into the storm,
The howling wind answered his calls,
By bringing forth the memories he is forced to relive.

He scratches desperately at the walls,
Blood pours from his fingertips,
Ghosts drift throughout the halls,
Beckoning to him,
They haunt the last of his sane thoughts,
As silent screams reach his hallowed lips.

The pouring rain washes his happiness away,
Lightning strikes fear deep inside his heart,
Thunder claps leave everything in disarray,
The storm is driving him apart.

A pen and paper sit by his side,
On which he tries to explain,
There's only just a few words to describe what's on his mind,
He signs his name at the bottom,
Opens up a window,
And releases his paper airplane.

Police find the man dead the next day,
Slouched by an open window, a bloody pen in his hand,
He was no longer in need of this heart beginning to decay,
Outside, the wind was calm,
The storm had stopped,
But what the officer saw was more than he could withstand.

On the tree outside hung a blood-soaked paper airplane,
Thrown into the storm with a story to tell,
Written by one insane,
With the red-dripping letters that spelled:
"Welcome to Hell."