So, it has come to this.
All but solitude,
Inexplicit detail
Have folded and left me.
Hopelessness grins and feeds with mirth,
My philosophies of death:
The nihilistic seal in which I once sought reason,
And spites with black, sarcastic tortures.
So alas, the sleeper dies,
In all-devouring darkness consumed
Where tears are blood from the soul.
Facing mortality
With trembling fingers
As ever failing swords.
In truth and essence,
Old beliefs are like a splintered shield,
Dying betwixt the mills of God,
Grinding bones to flour.
The song makes bitter dances
When crushed beneath that tower.
Be still, my bleeding heart...
Alas, all love is dead.
Monumental in its overwhelming silence.
Flooding with hurt,
Burning with regret.
All but solitude,
Inexplicit detail
Have folded and left me.
Hopelessness grins and feeds with mirth,
My philosophies of death:
The nihilistic seal in which I once sought reason,
And spites with black, sarcastic tortures.
So alas, the sleeper dies,
In all-devouring darkness consumed
Where tears are blood from the soul.
Facing mortality
With trembling fingers
As ever failing swords.
In truth and essence,
Old beliefs are like a splintered shield,
Dying betwixt the mills of God,
Grinding bones to flour.
The song makes bitter dances
When crushed beneath that tower.
Be still, my bleeding heart...
Alas, all love is dead.
Monumental in its overwhelming silence.
Flooding with hurt,
Burning with regret.