Death becomes them lying so quietly in their tomb,
all while cradling,
the lovely life of the burnt pride,
loving so quaint the decisions,
we once made to decline on our life's.

I sit and watch all the pieces fall,
the waves crashing in the sky,
like pain colliding with our hate,
it hits hard,
stifled feeling of being rejected.

Now fading away into the back,
do we all lack this feeling of security,
or is it just me that feels so insecure,
more and more when I look into the mirror.

The shards of broken glass shatter even more
on the floor,
can I take the bait?
twisted lullaby from whispers of the insane,
poison of our depression,
he stares upon me,
watching my every move,
sees me as I bend down,
and don't kill myself only turn,
and stab my shadow,
only the former me is dead now.

he screams my pain,
and swallows my pride,
the loneliness shows,
the highway walking all alone,
and the moon's eerie light shows my whole path,
and I follow without a bit of sorrow.

smells like hell,
with flames on the world,
and fear in their eyes,
I heard him cry,
the black cold death,
we will all live,
so I asked his spirit,
would we all be free,
he said no,
immense pain,
rinsing our time away,
feeling our graves call us from so far away,
grave ghost fallen down,
screaming out like a radio,
hell is without warning or sorrow,
then pain follows,
no breath,
just you,
dead eyes,
emptied out before your wicked demise,
heavens cold beneath my feet,
there is no love,
only what we make and that is nothing,



...nothing??
 
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