Woorden: In Flames. Whoracle. The Hive.

April night-tyme and we run like muscles
Through the stagnant nodes of man
Blood-bridges lean towards the gaping synapses
To disarms the stars within us

Hornet hive-dark
Severed wings in vainless beating
Buzz out from inferno of fangs
To disarms the stars within us

We should have been
So much more by now
Too dead inside
To even know the guilt

Waning ring-deep a halo of thorns
Sips now down in
The sheets of sharp silver
To disarm the star within us