Trace The Line
Served in a plate
of dirt to the vultures
In a bed of nettles
i scream my conviction
feed on me! feed on me!
i no more seek for
that measly bit of light
There is no sky,
There is no horizon
It's raining mud!
I'm left splayed on dust,
in shambles
left here wrapped in mold
And now i know
what your voice,
impressed in the distance, wanted to say
And now i know
the heads and tails of the end
And now i know
it all falls into oblivion
And now i know
the failure of the human concept
And now i know
that even when all seems to reiterate
The circle Ends Here