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- - - SONG WITHIN A DREAM - - -


The past and present never present
With the void of the future drawing ever nearer
The faith of wraiths are overbearing
I must draw a line in the sand just to build my walls
To watch them come crumbling down
And await the arrival of grim-faced pallbearers
Will they carry me to Valhalla
Or stuff me, eagerly, into the hungry maw?

Is it really so pitiful
And a little bit beautiful
To smear my name on your fame?
I have way too many bodies
To bury them all
Let them rot with a stench of shame

The calm before the storm never last
Pretty soon the thunderous echoes rattle myself
The voices of tomorrow say,
“Fuck you, the hands of time turn on rusted doomdays.”
I am face down in a pool of blood
Is it yours or mine? We will never know in this hell
Is there anyone there listening
When the sun does set into gloom dark and grey?

To face the day I remain jaded and tattered
Sullen to the point where I join in the laughter
All I see are bodies in line for the grinder
A pile of bones within a song trapped within a dream

Not really analytical
Am I really an imbecile
To ever think I’m unique?
Ever thought of the murder
Of ravens or crows
In the cold grip of mystique?

I stare in the face of red masque death
At the grand ball celebrating my tragedy
Within the phantasmagoria
Candle light reflects off of wrought iron panels
My madness churns with the witch’s flame
She cackles by the moon surrounded by misery
I spot it everyday in the mirror
As crimson wine flows, freely, into channels

I may be cynical
But it’ll be biblical
When I walk the path of wrath
Walk a tearful trail alone
With nothing at all
But the ghosts upon this path

To face the day I remain jaded and tattered
Sullen to the point where I join in the laughter
All I see are bodies in line for the grinder
A pile of bones within a song trapped within a dream

Oblivion waits for me
At the end of annihilation


Funeral pyres burn with distant hammers
Post in masquerades held grimmer but grander
I spoke of her beauty but it seemed as slander
My gravestone on display resounds with piercing screams
To face the day I remain jaded and tattered
Sullen to the point where I join in the laughter
All I see are bodies in line for the grinder
A pile of bones within a song trapped within a dream





(c) 2015 Frank Green

Written by HadesRising
Published
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