mornie utílië, mornie alantië

[silverwillow]

the passing of wicked things
comes to an end
channeling the anger with a grenade
holding it in the palm of my hand
silent in my reverie
it's just in my head...

wisdom yells out to me
confronting me like a looking glass
staring in my own eyes, and laughing
laughing at the impurities
crying out to me -
it's like a hopeless infection.

gradually it speeds up,
the whirlwind of thoughts spinning
like a tornado in my head
destroying everything else in its narrow path
until it leaves me unable to speak
unable to breathe

it's like an incurable fear
a fear of the inevitable
nothing else calls to me except this
miserable hope for destiny
but all i get is misery
all i get is misery...

and still, the empty shadows
clinging to the wall
clawing at me like a disease
making me cringe
they make me fear fear itself
and how i keep walking, i don't know.