Crossing the unkown path of the eternal night with hope and fever as a gift is an unsane idea. Deads are inerts, souls scattered elsewhere.
To believe that the idea of death deserves better than the reality of life is an archaic and deceptive concept. Death is not about liberation or elevation, death is the only permanent state of life.
Fall down on my knees, an angel in my arms.
Shadows of the wheel, cycle of the pain, I'm here.
Deads and goats shapeless built, dark clouds on my shoulders are so real.
Fall down from my tears, devil with some feels.
Cherrish fragile faith, brain lost in a maze of ruins and corpses.
I'm there, you're not here, I'm here you're not there to cry.
You're not there for me, why - Bleed, me and my fear.
I know it, you will leave far from me, to sleep, buried inside your shell full of dreams.
Burst my tears on your grave, flowers died so slowly,
mist of petals upon your head, stone cold as ice.
Melt my tears in clay... your grave, my hell, your grave, my hell...