Stare into the puddle
Of our blood
Knife made of false stars
Our hands of lust
Earth slowly crumbling
Before our eyes
Our lives
Slowly die.
The words The petals On a flower that Thrives by appearance Is only Will merely Be a flimsy Taste of what'... More
Stare into the puddle
Of our blood
Knife made of false stars
Our hands of lust
Earth slowly crumbling
Before our eyes
Our lives
Slowly die.