I can sense a storm crawling,
Crawling beneath the stars.
The awoken beast is roaring
It's surfacing at Mars.
A mass of fire, rock and hate,
Will lead us towards St. Peter's gate.
If we only knew,
How to stop this beast
This Curse. This Tragedy.
And how it will eat us dead
Snapped by the lens of photography
Wingless angels with bloody feathers
Broken hearts and torn up letters
Shattered glass and smashed mirrors
And seven years to see things clearer.
How to stop this?
How to end it?
Do we embrace Death's deadly kiss?
Or sacrafice every bit?
Tomorrow will come
And tomorrow will go
Will we last?
No-one knows..
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Comments
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I Am Unapolgethic Apathy, The Patron Saint Of Killers
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music.
I'm the black rose of society
no shit sherlock!
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