Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of time.
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools their way to death. Out, out, brief candle.
Often expectations fail, mostly where they promise not the least.
Consequences of our madness, promises we fail to keep.
Stripped of consciousness, without the motivation, self-indulgence is laughing at me.
Swaying between sides and states of mind, glancing thoughtless at times to the falter, I have time to waste so I wait...but I don't even
know what for...I was born in this place, but I wasn't born for this.
If this in Heaven then I'm not afraid to go to Hell, with a lifetime of doubt lying up ahead.
The taint of vice whose strong corruption inhabits my frail blood is overwhelming me, so I place my life in balance and with no reason, I
march towards tomorrow ever again, through Heaven and Hell, letting daylight burn its hours through me.
What was the definition of clich�...Is it me or do these faces lack a name...
Stereotypes for feelings, frowns and fashion...If I resemble I commit to self-compassion.
The damage that we leave behind will be the cause for unhealed scars...
All these scars will never heal, these scars that will never f*****g heal...
Should I write this story, though not my own...
Alive or dead, makes no difference at all if I'm committed to live in vain, laying nights to waste, losing sleep, having simple
conversations with stones with faces.
This house of sticks that's built for me is now crashing right before my eyes and I watch it burn, as my ideals come back to life.
I must move on and if I fall I will carry on.
If this is Heaven, then I'm not afraid to go to Hell.
If this is life, then I want everything to end.
If this is all there is, then it will all burn, beginning life with life...
So sweet the taste of embers, so sweet the taste of fire that burned, erased both, honest and the liar. Who's the carrier of crown, not
that everything has bled...
Who's the carrier of crown, in this land of the dead...
