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Description
misery slips into a silence
where the blood demon spiders
weave their tangled webs of broken glass
and the men not of today, or tomorrow
lie in shambles, half seen as human

the dark twist of doubt shadows, and feeds
every half mortal drips from the mouth
when the siege perfume of a dry rot walks
so does the labyrinth tomb contract
only to stifle hope

thoughts waver hopefully, for the taste of air,
moist from something other than red, rust

hear me without the grinding of metal on metal.
this ride isn't Hollywood, its heaven
fit only for misfits too calloused to ever bleed
this power train is a one shot deal
if a seizure isn't the shock for you,
hope your shadow won't follow you home