The sun reflects the pain of these angels who are rotten.
Decaying amongst the filth as they slowly become forgotten.
Shackled in rusted chains I don't hesitate to slit my wrists.
Because in a place like this I find myself lost in it's bliss.
Shadows stand on every corner although nothing's there to cast them.
As fastened as my mind is, my body begins to spasm.
Withered feathers from fallen angels slowly fade to black.
My hope dwindles as the days become a memory of the past.
At night the screams intensify, as their mocking starts to sound closer.
My once bulletproof heart is now more similar to an ulcer.
And if you're next in line, close your eyes and repent.
Those Hail Mary possibilities will eventually become fractioned shreds.
Our sense of "right" has turned to wrong and morals into garbage.
Although morals are the base of good, everything seems tarnished.
I've seen people who cry blood and angels chained to crying fixtures.
I'd gladly go to Hell; Heaven wasn't like this in the picture.