Under the dead leaves they lie.
Measuring the sights of the land.
Sitting, waiting and welting.
Constantly drumming their shaking hands.

Under the dead leaves they lie.
Grabbing sticks and melting tragedies by drowning down.
We wonder, we wait, we sigh.
Looking for a reason to move.

Under the dead leaves they lie.
Pressing up thoughts of the grey chain.
Mimicking the great sorrow.
Embracing a new companion in vein.

Under the dead leaves they lie.
They lie and lie and lie.

Oh blasphemous beauty, how you cloud my judgement.
Your torturous soul engulfs me with
wisdom way to young and old,
for my tender age.

Your speculated claws drive me further and further,
away into the shallow pits of destiny and fate facing face.

Oh blasphemous beauty why do you torture me with,
your tender words and pitiful looks.
Your sorrowful glances are a pitchfork of loveliness.

Your bottled ego makes my rage as empty as
the shallow grave.
Oh Blasphemous beauty you are a woman
of magnificent void.