Fight of the flesh and rotting wood
Of pride- Tears are nothing more
Than self-sacrificed blood
Quenching your heart of bore
Circulating a love not spoken
In less than a thousand fear
A thousand spear- Beautifully broken,
You're a road-killed worthless deer
But why would it matter
If you're already born to die?
The noise, choice, scream and scatter
Of a hundred fields and dreams to fly
It all means nothing without a killer,
Without a demon's scourging reign
Grass of needles, a sword for a pillar
And clouds storming with wrath and pain.
"You would not have it any other way
The likes of you are allergic to the light"
Crawl back to his heart at the end of day
Drop the masks and bask in blight,
The only dreams allowed here
Are the dreams of slaves,
Those which crystallize a death clear-
Of the gashes and rotting of graves,
Those dreams that save the night,
From losing to the next sun
Those dreams that just might
As well be the his smoking gun.
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