songs made of whispers silent screams like a
choral of the dead needles
prick the
softest skin and the breeze screams bloodlust
these eyes gazing
over the hilltops
burning red the night skies seem to follow me
blanketing
me with crowds of grey and
black the crowd of the damned screams eyes shown
red raise the dead the breeze screaming
over the whispers in the dark
setting the
leaves in sway hanging there like a body from the
raftors
smiling back at me they wait in
eager circles for me to stagger into the
darkness these images that i have seen they
still burn inside of me
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