"Death grows like a tree that's planted in my chest
Its roots are at my feet, I walk so it won't rest
Oh, Baby I am Lost...
I try to push the colors through a prism back to white
To sync our different pulses into a blinding light
And if love is not the key, if love is not a key.
I hope that I can find a place where it could be."
(Asaf Avidan, Different Pulses)