what dose matter in this endless sharade
Now I do presume that these words frighten you?
nothing is quite as it was before ye were to dwell under lock and key in a demented prison cell...hear words not from afar but very close to a dying heart...look up into a sky of old & young, a dream, not as real as it may seem. this howl of sour delight bracing through the endless night. with a raging fist of sweet agony, gaze upon this here corpse with bitter joy. the deed half way begun, yet done before the rising sun. the golden rays do not yet pierce the pale moon flesh of a suffering race, so before me now will ye grace my presence. tell me of old and dying age, of endless nights played by the same sharade...over and over this cliched act of withering remorse, a guilty tear rolls down an ageless face wondering of what death is to be, and a quite voice sharp in a whisper engages my ear, telling in an asking way, like a child for candy, she asks of death, what feelings dose it bring over the body, her canines penetrate my throat just a little ways above my collar bone. TELL me she pleads in a blood lust rage, what dose death bring to your tingling lifeless body? i try to answer but as wind under a raven wing my voice trails off in to a lighten distance. ANSWER me she calls into the endless nights, again and again she embraces my dead body, that as the decades that have passed is now only a skeletal form of my original self. bloody rivers pour down her pale moon skin mourning into the night and close into the day....
nothing is quite as it was before ye were to dwell under lock and key in a demented prison cell...hear words not from afar but very close to a dying heart...look up into a sky of old & young, a dream, not as real as it may seem. this howl of sour delight bracing through the endless night. with a raging fist of sweet agony, gaze upon this here corpse with bitter joy. the deed half way begun, yet done before the rising sun. the golden rays do not yet pierce the pale moon flesh of a suffering race, so before me now will ye grace my presence. tell me of old and dying age, of endless nights played by the same sharade...over and over this cliched act of withering remorse, a guilty tear rolls down an ageless face wondering of what death is to be, and a quite voice sharp in a whisper engages my ear, telling in an asking way, like a child for candy, she asks of death, what feelings dose it bring over the body, her canines penetrate my throat just a little ways above my collar bone. TELL me she pleads in a blood lust rage, what dose death bring to your tingling lifeless body? i try to answer but as wind under a raven wing my voice trails off in to a lighten distance. ANSWER me she calls into the endless nights, again and again she embraces my dead body, that as the decades that have passed is now only a skeletal form of my original self. bloody rivers pour down her pale moon skin mourning into the night and close into the day....