BlindHow many bullets does it take before a wall finally crumbles? It stands there, gray under even grayer skies, perfect tonality for such a profound symbol of our world nowadays.
A barrier, separating god knows what, possibly just there to separate two more walls, or simply separating separation.
These corridors are full of stifling fog that wrings the neck of anyone so bold to think. Where did this fog even come from? Is it just here to be poetic, to somehow make the arduous trip slightly agitating at that? And what if out of this tangled mass of barriers, one were to fall?
I'll tell you what would happen. Freedom. All of these poor, wretched, and weary souls can finally get a glimpse of the sun, and while the clouds of concrete settle, drop by drop sweet liberation will fall from the skies, and each blind beggar can hold his blind eyes up to the sun and catch each sweet drop on his face.
And to each tyrant, each king of the deprived, all who wield the whip and crack with no remorse... t
RegretOh I know a place where it snows,
Where ash falls in flakes of white,
Ive never seen the edge of the world
Until such a bitter night
Oh I know a place where the lava runs cold
Where time moves forever, but you never get old
Ive seen the world through a beggars eyes
Ive stolen bread with saddened sighs
Under sagging stars theres so much regret
Can fire stop burning, does it ever forget?
My city is crumbled, a beggar no more
Now I am free, but still I am poor
Ice is still warm, fire still cold
God, in a day I've grown so old
I can name three colors off the top of my head,
These colors be black, white, and red
They mean nothing to an untrained soul
But everything to hardened coal.
It burns so fast for a minute of heat
Never a diamond, never complete
And thus is life, a fatal car crash.
I bid you farewell, to my city of ash.
The StageOh cold steel train, your back once again,
To take me back to where I once died,
With your menacing smoke stack,
Pouring lines of jet black,
I can see you've been lonely indeed.
Well, I'll hop on once more, I've nothing better to do,
I mind as well get reaquainted with you.
We can travel the lands in a small metal cage
A marionnet crowd, I'll hop up on stage,
My life is a theatre of silent lines and thoughts
You leave with what with you came with,
Save a couple of bucks.
The only thing left is one light shining,
A firefly glowing, a firefly dying.
Once the curtains close and the stage is dim
When the theatre ages, decrepit and grim,
When the walls fall down with shafts of blue.
I'll still be bowing, waiting for you.
Shadow of the Mantis
Among bone yard cities of steel giants
Lie deaths destructive, conniving clients
Born from hatred comes an idea of malice
Self destructive angel of the sulfur palace
Wielding the flail that bore his creation
Two pinpoints of fire, pure fixation
Slaughtering out his wings over the city
Where men and men quarrel in a violence committee
Self aware slaughter house
Forged to kill man and mouse
One of the same, but two nonetheless
Twisted steel and morals piling a mess
Skin of ashes and hair of blood
Arrogant angels that bathe in mud
With never-ending worthless war
Of savages, nothing more
They build their homes of blood and tears
And base their peace on war and fears
They birth the reaper and raise the keeper
Of all their graves of steel
They've defined destruction
And destroyed construction
Yet death's their production
And life's their obstruction
A moral reduction
Taking Satan's instruction
A new induction
Of evil's seduction
Is not limited to physical being
Ares DesmonovI am the product of a millennium of pity and audacity
I am the one who gives my best and gets slammed down and fucked up
I am the fringes of the hair of burning bodies,
I am every dead tree from here to fucking hell.
I breathe ashes and my heart pumps pumice
I am the bomb under the train
I am the straw that severs the camel's back
I am the frigid breeze that sucks the last breath out of a beaten man.
The world doesn't owe me anything. Likewise, I don't owe it shit. I am the shadow of an aristocratic society, and I am the roach that doesn't die.
I am a smoker, I am an atheist, I am a lying idiot. I laugh when bridges collapse, buildings burn and society crumbles beneath its own weight.
I am not a very large man, no not by any means, one man's brute strength compares not to the mental brawn of one hundred.
…One hundred and thirty seven.
Yes, that seems accurate, I am a number freak. There are fourteen stairs leading down from St. York Bridge. The wooden door leading into the cell (I call