Woorden: A Corpse Named Abel. Other. Fin.

Undying shadowing over the dreadful things to come I watch as this page grows dim heros so strong so brave so pityful go in to battle blinded by self righteousness while angels grow wings of hate and anger and bleed nothing but black beat down these burnt out lifes the sound of whispers turns to screams of the unforgiven for now hands are now worn from holding on to your empty excuses just let go, fall from grace lay my head to rest with the soft sounds of silence still ringing in my ear and once again I am saved