Even if people are around me, No matter where I’m at, I’m still alone,
In the abyss I am; my horizon is to faraway from home,
Discarded by fate that I’m afraid to trust again, as I tremor in fear,
I don’t know if I could take that pain again…. the sorrow and the tears,
Memories that has kept me a prisoner of time,
Illusions that are making my eyes go blind,
My soul is bleeding out, it has been slain,
Fallen and crawling in blood, my heart has an eternal stain,
I’ve shed a river that within me there’s nothing left,
No fountain of youth but a fountain of death,
Sitting under the grueling rain and a black rose in my hand,
In and over my head getting sucked in like quick sand,
Dissolving into the never where life’s slowly tainting me away,
I’m using every inch of my breath just to make another day,
Alone I’ll be under the starless sky with a black cloud on top,
With death just gazing at me waiting for my number to come up,
I fight so hard to find my place of ease,
But I guess I never will because melancholy is what was destined for me
I looked at the blood inscribed on my skin,
Longbow-launched symbolism
Flying from within... An arrow.
So easily bent to the whims
Of the wind,
so broken by pain And tainted by sin.
Specifically that sin
of which we all can confess
Freely
Or whilst under duress,
Hard-pressed
Against the surface of me.
This recent agony
Has changed my trajectory.
And again that sin
is something to which we all can lay claim.
When the archer took aim
We hoped it was at a target... But it was a heart.
We were made to hurt and kill.
And that was not our transgression.
Our HOPE is the object of this confession.
In the abyss I am; my horizon is to faraway from home,
Discarded by fate that I’m afraid to trust again, as I tremor in fear,
I don’t know if I could take that pain again…. the sorrow and the tears,
Memories that has kept me a prisoner of time,
Illusions that are making my eyes go blind,
My soul is bleeding out, it has been slain,
Fallen and crawling in blood, my heart has an eternal stain,
I’ve shed a river that within me there’s nothing left,
No fountain of youth but a fountain of death,
Sitting under the grueling rain and a black rose in my hand,
In and over my head getting sucked in like quick sand,
Dissolving into the never where life’s slowly tainting me away,
I’m using every inch of my breath just to make another day,
Alone I’ll be under the starless sky with a black cloud on top,
With death just gazing at me waiting for my number to come up,
I fight so hard to find my place of ease,
But I guess I never will because melancholy is what was destined for me
I looked at the blood inscribed on my skin,
Longbow-launched symbolism
Flying from within... An arrow.
So easily bent to the whims
Of the wind,
so broken by pain And tainted by sin.
Specifically that sin
of which we all can confess
Freely
Or whilst under duress,
Hard-pressed
Against the surface of me.
This recent agony
Has changed my trajectory.
And again that sin
is something to which we all can lay claim.
When the archer took aim
We hoped it was at a target... But it was a heart.
We were made to hurt and kill.
And that was not our transgression.
Our HOPE is the object of this confession.