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Bloodsmear

de Woe Of Tyrants

Crashing of thunder, considering the light of the moon. Displaying barren pastures, the reach of my sight is weak. Gathering the pieces, the remains from the flood. Seeking shelter in the shadow of the rising sun. With dawn comes a new race, a race for shelter. A place to hide from the rays of truth that stripe my skin. Go... Placing of hope in the last setting star, a tree providing shade. Rotten fruit extends temptation grand, limb by limb I ascend. My joints grow weary, I work to please the vacant crevice of my mind. There is work to be done tonight, the knowledge that comes with fear, the fallacy, stating that the time has come. A body burning. Gnashing teeth removing excess flesh in bulk, as the fruit is poisoned. I feel it hardening in my veins, calloused, crystallizing blood. Turns to tar, slowing down my heart, the steady rhythm fading. The crack of timber underneath, falling from the top of this diseased tree. Deeper, deeper towards the dirt, the branches scratching and bruising my skin. But they would say this inspiration is the key. There's a burn in every heart. The brazen forces invading the fortress keep reduce the odds and leave the children to weep. This drop of blood smears the world, restores to beating the hearts once stone. The birth of spring defeats the cold, devouring autumn's fall. But they would say this inspiration is the key. There's a burn in every heart. The brazen forces invading the fortress keep reduce the odds and leave the children to weep. This drop of blood smears the world, restores to beating the hearts once stone. The birth of spring defeats the cold, devouring autumn's fall.

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