I walked the streets of heat and greed long ago
A hand full of years feels like home
One that was taken from me, ironically it wasn’t mine to begin with
Lazy minds became the victims of shady outlines predating hope
Mistress luck is a cold heart beauty, yet sometimes shows mercy
Certainly there’s no rest for the wicked, but the damned
Those poor bastards rest all the time on a bed of flames
When the lies become shy of their own nature, that’s when begins
Mummified wishes of growth and happiness dance around
The walls become whispers of doom, the pillow the executioner
The reason of insanity is alien to strangers, it loves the intimacy
Face to face one encounters the wonders of pity and anguish
The will becomes brittle and smoke comes out of the eyes
A grim reminder sets in motion undesirable wishes of cold silence
The air stands stills, it’s not about the size but the intensity
Nothing can break in when the stage is on fire and with full house
The mind starts to break from reality to form a web of deceit
All hope wanders into the big black forest.
Deja un comentario