(no subject)
Sleepless nights filled with memories that are long since forgotten but never truly possessed. Seeing faces that are not really there, faces that are from lovers past and burnt bridges future. Do you know the world of the living? We are the land of the dead unknowing. We are the dead that walk for we have not realized our own mortality.
The stench of death is immediately recognizable. Yet, we do not recognize it. We do not recognize it because it is all around us. It has saturated our nostrils; it has permeated into the very essence of our world. You cannot escape death, nor can you escape its stench. The stench that would cause even the strongest stomach to heave. The stench that would bring a tear to the most pious of eye, it is all around us, it is we.
There is immorality in the acquisition of the unknown. Dancing in the shadows of an ancient orchard long since forgotten by time. Do you know the secrets buried deep within its furrows? Can you smell the past that vision has forgotten? Do you hear the voices calling for aide? Quiet your fear and listen to the world. Silence your pain and open up to that of others. You walk over them and do not realize it. You see the product of their death; you eat the fruit of their loins. The loins that lay buried. The souls contained within the darkened cores. The naïve walk through the rows and contaminate the land, unaware of the lands dark past. Our land has bathed in the blood of the warriors who fought for it, the freemen who claimed it, and the ignorant who starved on it and the pacifists who laid down their lives in vain. Their memories are gone; they are lost to the world and we who remain dance on their graves. The unmarked graves of a thousand souls lie buried beneath our reality. The unmarked graves of heroes long past their prime, long past their usefulness. They drowned with metals pinned to their chest, with their armor weighing them down, unable to escape their blood splattered past, unable to release their soul from the steel and lead covered world.
Can you escape the destiny of the past? We want to be warriors. We want to have a fight. We want to be remembered. We won’t be for that, we won’t be remembered for our valor or our determination for the fight. We’ll be remembered for not bowing down to the superior commands. We will be remembered for being the ones who stand up to the brethren of archaic ideals that lead our downfall. When they call for us to help hold the crumbling walls of our society, we will look at them with silent apathy. We will look at them with the same apathy they had looked to us with and we will look on as the stones the forgotten souls placed crush them. We will silently stare at the downfall our world will be beseeched by and we will weep for the memories. The memories we will choose to forget, because we are the forgotten children. We are the children of the souls of the memories past.
The darkness is all consuming. Run from that which you cannot understand, you are not meant to in the end.
The stench of death is immediately recognizable. Yet, we do not recognize it. We do not recognize it because it is all around us. It has saturated our nostrils; it has permeated into the very essence of our world. You cannot escape death, nor can you escape its stench. The stench that would cause even the strongest stomach to heave. The stench that would bring a tear to the most pious of eye, it is all around us, it is we.
There is immorality in the acquisition of the unknown. Dancing in the shadows of an ancient orchard long since forgotten by time. Do you know the secrets buried deep within its furrows? Can you smell the past that vision has forgotten? Do you hear the voices calling for aide? Quiet your fear and listen to the world. Silence your pain and open up to that of others. You walk over them and do not realize it. You see the product of their death; you eat the fruit of their loins. The loins that lay buried. The souls contained within the darkened cores. The naïve walk through the rows and contaminate the land, unaware of the lands dark past. Our land has bathed in the blood of the warriors who fought for it, the freemen who claimed it, and the ignorant who starved on it and the pacifists who laid down their lives in vain. Their memories are gone; they are lost to the world and we who remain dance on their graves. The unmarked graves of a thousand souls lie buried beneath our reality. The unmarked graves of heroes long past their prime, long past their usefulness. They drowned with metals pinned to their chest, with their armor weighing them down, unable to escape their blood splattered past, unable to release their soul from the steel and lead covered world.
Can you escape the destiny of the past? We want to be warriors. We want to have a fight. We want to be remembered. We won’t be for that, we won’t be remembered for our valor or our determination for the fight. We’ll be remembered for not bowing down to the superior commands. We will be remembered for being the ones who stand up to the brethren of archaic ideals that lead our downfall. When they call for us to help hold the crumbling walls of our society, we will look at them with silent apathy. We will look at them with the same apathy they had looked to us with and we will look on as the stones the forgotten souls placed crush them. We will silently stare at the downfall our world will be beseeched by and we will weep for the memories. The memories we will choose to forget, because we are the forgotten children. We are the children of the souls of the memories past.
The darkness is all consuming. Run from that which you cannot understand, you are not meant to in the end.