Tremors of old lives,
cause new ones to escape.
Silver, gold and crimson,
show deaths beneath their wake.
Greed then feed this darkness,
lets it grow beyond it's mass.
And silence like no other,
creeps on in atfermath.
There is no "grip of life",
and no faith for fellow man.
These people stand in sunlight,
with groutesque shadows on the land.
There ae no special colors,
when man looks to the sky....
Because their sillhouettes are waitng,
to feed upon their lies.
Anger grows in hearts of man,
and minds get pretty meek.
These shallow souls of innocence,
are boundless for what they seek.
Rancor's birth in time,
will darken all that is clear...
And between the wasteland and the sky,
E.O.N.'s children curse with tears.
By daminami
 Danamii · Tue Feb 26, 2008 @ 02:24am · 0 Comments |
