#lookingovertheedge

Shriveling skin you mishear me

Like all of them do

Interrupt the traveling man

Dont pray its all useless

Poor Bastard. Til the end

Cuz God fears his makings

While I waste in places

Where flowers kiss softly

But the people dont grow

Ash on the tips of my tools

I feel stranger to peace.

To the words I claim true

My thoughts placate

Blinding and cruel

I cant walk straight

Unconscious. You problematic fool.

Burn off my fingers

My Thumbs in my sockets

Im Leaving to death