Deep Wounds1 min 106 1 min 106
Change my soul.
Likes of twilight, to give hope to these demons
It's for a moment, the fear of Satan isn't the light and a mystery of death still remains a pattern in neither light nor dark.
Losing my soul to the bites of my on will, the price is the fear I brought upon myself, now! Faith wilts like its vines no longer reach my soul for adaptation
Thorns on a red rose, my hands wrapped around it in wait of a blossom,
Silent whispers, "hell. Hell. Hell.."
Drools of blood covering a perimeter of my step, with the reflection of whom I've become, likes of change is inevitable.
Flying petals, a sign of my lost soul, dispatching from my life and my two hands regret not.
The path whispered joy, my ears could hear smiles
I want to be happy.