May truth be misheard our hate denies pain,
In our lost souls we dig to through tomorrow,
Can you not see the sins burning in your brain,
bellowing cries never heard on the outside.

Thrilling visions of suicide its all in vain,
chilled bone depression has given my day,
one last wish is granted tell me I'm not insane,
to float this very way in great haste to say.

I am pleading to hear my cries in solitude,
but does nothing fly over with great passion,
fleeing this painful murderer of aptitude,
I fall to ground faceless but calm no aggression.

Now to feel this cold wound pierced death mark,
I lie alone never to see thine loved face again.
 
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