Some things are so dark that woe
betide the light that shines on them
I swear to god I thought it was a sign
This shallow grave recedes
with every darkened patch of sky
The withered, wearied features start resembling mine
And in the disparate clamour
of the chaos that surrounds you
It's hard to know which of the voices that you hear
Are your own
Cap comentari:
Publica un comentari a l'entrada