::Voice::
"There are some qualities- some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs
From matter and light, evinced in solid and shade."
Sonnet - Silence
by: Edgar Allen Poe
::End Voice::
My hands are stained, what have I done, done.
My hands are stained, what have I done, done done.
A sleep deprived crime, through darkness the clock froze time. Three daggers all intertwine, the wind howls out and the mind staggers/remains the fire dwelling inside. Halls twist back around to a void once filled with a bastard peace of love. As all was lost and thrown off track, the judgement had been spoken/ murder has become.
Long time ago a voice once spoke. All who heard froze. Wisond and agony echo from the tormented. It was silent again.
It was in the sky, bound in a life time of stone. A love like crime, for the grey could never erase the fading sun. A cut down the shriek and a light brush of crimson melts down the cheek. Pale shadows become the lies bound in to the trust fading in life. Watch the reflection drip down what was cast in darkness. Soon reflects to red.
My hands are stained, what have I done, done.
My hands are stained, what have I done, done done.
Long time ago a voice once spoke. All who heard froze. Wisond and agony echo from the tormented. It was silent again.
My hands are stained, what have I done, done.
My hands are stained, what have I done, done done.
[Solo/ Drum solo]
Could one dismiss what was mistaken for a fragment of rusted bitter hatred. Could obsession become the bullets. Dreams come so close, the voice haunts like a painted silouette. A soft heartbeat and twisted smile become the sanity that is closing. Peel the skin back to see true beauty. No one is left here.
Long time ago a voice once spoke. All who heard froze. Wisond and agony echo from the tormented. It was silent again.
My hands are stained, what have I done, done.
My hands are stained, what have I done, done done.
A sleep deprived crime, through darkness the clock froze time. Three daggers all intertwine, the wind howls out and the mind staggers/remains the fire dwelling inside.
The silence exists here |
Submission Name: The Silence
