Lament of the Lamb

A turning of the world on its head

Division in time, seperates me from

What I am, and what I'm supposed to be

 

The breath of life leaves summer's

Golden days, like the rotting of flesh;

My home turned to dust

 

Something approaches over omnious

Hills, every craig and rock swirls

The air, an unrepresable blanket

 

It's a sickness, consuming the sweet

Blood of the lamb, medicine-thick

Darkness washes the heart of men

 

As I shake hands with death, I realize

That I was wrong

All is red

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