a bottomless grave of foolish tears
varying colors of the same enslaving bells
we indulge, eating our very fears
living disillusioned in individual hells
wearing costumes, adorned with the black kiss
dulling, ignoring the servants' thorns
forsaken bliss
while the forgotten ring their warning horns
the sickness is the lure
we watch ourselves bleed
there is no cure
there is no need
darkness' mistress, this doleful theory
we are young and silver, but already weary
No comments:
Post a Comment