Numb to pain,
Damn this game.
Slipping bouncing inside my bleeding brain,
Free me from this dreadful game.
The game of life,
The game of death.
Divine wings smolder,
Burn and blacken.
Born with white wings,
The wings of innocence,
The wings of purity.
Broken wings.
Broken and torn.
Wings the crimson colour of life,
Wings the crimson colour of death.
Blackened heart,
Bloodied wings.
We were all angels,
Civilization is such a joke.
Angels inhabit only the young,
But when they grow,
The angels die,
And the devils are reborn.
Vile hatred,
Sprouts its seed and blooms,
Blooms to a black rose,
Deadly and dark.
Torn wings,
Bloodied wings,
Burned heart.
Shattered trust
No trace of innocence left to find,
No whisper of hope,
No inkling of kindness.
Free me from this game,
Free me from the bloodied wings,
And show me the true, black wings,
Hidden beneath.
Demons inhabit my brain,
Demons lurk and hunt.
Ever hunting.
Searching out any last strain of hope,
Any last thread of happiness.
To be happy is to be a child,
Unaware of the world around.
To slip is to know,
And to fall is to regret
The tears that never fell.
Falling is our last breath,
Our last chance.
Should our wings mend,
Go from black to grey
Or from red to pink,
Perhaps then we could live again.
But it is the choking smoke of hell,
Not the divine clouds,
That we breathe.
That we choke on.
Blackened wings have no solace.
Burn. burn, childish innocence.
Your place is in the past,
You are no longer needed.
Innocence, once cracked,
Can never be mended.
Your innocence is gone, gone.
Darkness enfolds,
In the wrathful fires of hell,
We are welcome.
Welcome down to the last drop.
So bleed on,
Broken wings of hope.