| Leaving all my deamons back
|
| Still seems the sky covered by black clouds
|
| Are these faces all my bag
|
| Or prisions from I’ve never really scaped
|
| Crawling under horrors often fails
|
| Stale hangovers, sight watching high
|
| And then fragile blossoms falling
|
| Whirl of dread, whirl of dread
|
| How use the feral shiver left behind
|
| Its inner cadence set my cry
|
| Or slough then to dusting life
|
| The shiver left behind
|
| Swarm over there, so strong fellows
|
| Watch from a bursting sky
|
| All feared seals, fell on my head wound
|
| And fill the pain thru my eyes
|
| How long I should the hide
|
| My loss, not face the dark, transforms
|
| Crippled mind, still even being sly
|
| One drift through the luricking lies
|
| Wielding the fear, wearing a simple rag
|
| Tangled whirl, not to smother my stare
|
| But enshrines the pledge
|
| Faint lapse is life
|
| Thin blind guide, awful nest
|
| Always a bleak lore |