I record my thoughts into this book. With me, everywhere, this book, I took. And even when the ground shook, I held tightly in my hands the binding of this book. A Journal, Where I where I record where I rise and when I fall, Where I write down simple things that wander the minds of all, As though a living wall of the emotions we choose not to call... Our Own. To the show, I brought this journal, you know, Someone asked if I show the persona-reflections glow, I handed her the book and said, "You know?" If there's anything in this book that you don't already know, Its certainly not anything I'd rather not show, 'Cause I've got nothing to hide, don't you know? We took flight to the show, And all four of us glowed, Like stars in the night sky, On a landscape covered in snow. An angel's voice, A virtuoso's piano playing, And the Miraculous Teamwork of two, Out of that show grew, Our Performers' souls anew. Though win we have not, Win we have, For perform we have, And thus, increased our nav, Rather than dividing our confidences into halves. Winning and losing, Both can be good things, And each within our minds rings, With the sounds of each one's effect's strings, And what each echo's sound shall bring; And so, heading to the skies, we spread our wings, On the reflection of the day our efforts will bring.