Second two or maybe a day
I glance over yellowed pages
Touch the scares of your unpure soul
I drown in sticky passion of your memory
Born from chaos wind of hatred human faces it posses
The sand of the sarcophagus of memories blows
And every seed is a diamond blade
In the tact of their language beats my heart
And pass centuries
I touch the scares of your unpure soul
Sometimes death comes at night
yellowed
touch
storm
silence
scars
pages
names
memories
human
night
comes
scares
nothing
chaos
shall
drown
second
passion
centuries
beats
blood
daylight
diamond
blows
escape
sticky
language
birth
black
sometimes
blade
death
sarcophagus
fades
memory
heart
gives
every
hatred
faces
filled
unpure
their
maybe
glance
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