Not sure why the hatred burns within.
The living embers that control the soul
Will only turn the light into blackness coal.
The shattered collection of broken dreams continues.
Prosperity is only for the chosen few, not demons under cover.
Looking at the tomb of the lost soul, A crimson tear appears.
Blood thirsty for a taste of a virgin touch, I long for death.
Looking within, a slight sound is heard over the silence of desire.
Kicking the playing cards into the furnace, laughter is cold and relentless.
Controlled by the strings of the patriarch of loathing,
I settle not for greatness, but for the chance to slip on through.
Lounging in the graveyard of those gone by, I part the sea of thorns.
Following the sense of the unknown, I travel down the path of hurt.
Seeing the pain in your eyes, I continue the departure of longing.
The trouble spot of the known world lies in the anger of the tombstone.
Whispers in Shadows is all that I continue to expect and respect.
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