segunda-feira, 24 de novembro de 2008

The Fire...


I can't fall asleep nor dream
and everything tastes like ash.
Your love is my burning desire
My love is my funeral pyre.
The marching band playing
our distorted sad song,
unable to quiet the dark voices
that scream endlessly in my head
and question all of my choices
and what lies ahead.
You're unaware that death walks by
and takes me by my cold hand
to guide me towards oblivion.
I listened to your opinion
but now my restless soul
leaves it's broken body
searching for some kind of peace
but all that's left are ashes
from the fire I lit...