This flesh holds me captive and in quest of liberation...
As the sheep flock in the dissonance, I tread in dissent.
To the
piercing light that sears our hearts;
To the sickness that plagues our spirits...
I cannot revere in this blind acceptance and
falter in my comprehension.
Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire!
Heal this restless spirit that bestowed
naught.
Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate I consign!
Heal my heart, my weeping soul...
I consign this
putrid flesh.
Nothing here, nobody there...
Erroneous illness shouting.
The outcry reviles this tattered soil...
Drowning the
world in filth and distortion.
Forfeit my injured soul, this affliction I respire!
Heal this restless spirit that bestowed
naught.
Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate I consign!
Heal my heart, my weeping soul...
I consign this
putrid flesh.
Ill leave my conscience to die.
A barrenness of dreams and anticipation;
Life and hope shrivel into the
void.
Heal this heart that approached the world, as I relegate I consign!
Heal my heart, my weeping soul...
I consign this
putrid flesh.
In this pantheon of sorrow,
We are everything, yet nothing!
And as long were breathing,
The burden devoid of
conclusion!
Unaided I slither ravaged, silent and alone.
I smolder in anxious strife; I decline these exhausted remnants of
decay.
The world is coming to an end; a vast ocean of disease...
All hope is lost... or perhaps this is the cradle of
salvation.
I must tranquil these turbulent waters.
No more expressions shall leave my trait...
No further words shall be
spoken.
This illness they conceived broke my tired wings.