If I could take a thousand pills and swallow them with all your ills, with all your dreaming dark deceit, I’d label that a godly feat. A task unknown to all that walk, to all that dream, and all that talk. To all the angry, ancient folk, that suffer still under the yoke. If I could take a thousand steps, away from you and all your tests. I’d find no solace in this world, no shell to shield, no wall to fold. No matter under the divine, to find and face my Valentine, to love your lace and all its kind, in body, soul and sullen mind. If I could find the words to speak, to all the faces that I seek, to all the places I have been, with all the hatred I am in. And all the balance broken down, from the worlds I’d wandered in my town, through all the tears that struck the ground. I’d still fall back in love with you, and then bring forth the golden rule. That love is childish, cruel and vain. A boring, blinding, barren game. A feud of fortune favoured still, by those that find no home, or hill. There is no place, nor time and truth, to love thyself, and still be true. With bated breath and hatred spent, I find the words to pay the rent. To mark the days until I slumber, deep in peril, hearts encumber. Heaven rests on tiny wings, born of brimstone, fellish things. Carrying Life and Death in dreams, to wonderment and eldritch beings. If I could mask my love for you, in darkest night and hellish view. I’d spin a web of laughing chaos, to wax and wain, to whisper true. And all the lies we’ve told ourselves, all the flies we’ve burned in hell, all the wisdom, all the woe, will rain red ribbons down on you.
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Death Toll
Listen close to all i say
This is the end
This land is grey
The words we face
In death
In grace
They flow and find our souls
In kind
We are the dew that weep from them
The land
The dirt
The earth
The band
The bards of old will speak
Will sing
To us of ours
The bells will ring
The lords of night will mark
The world
The moon will spark
The dark
Unfurled
We’ll know what lies within
Without
We’ll find ourselves in debt
In doubt
The days will come
And pass
The time
The hour will rise
When we will rhyme
Again and then
We’ll know the tale
Of blood and bane
Of hell
Of hail