Mark down
the seconds between
the flash and boom

That's the distance
True love blooms

Stupidity and filth run deep—
No pastel shades, just tones that weep.
Paint it dark—no heaven’s near,
Hell won’t offer refuge here.

And if you find one—just a fool.
Light is fading, dim and cruel.
Bosch’s visions, once so grand,
Drown in lies at evil’s hand.

Madness reigns, the world’s decayed,
Critics? Judge yourself—too late.
Words are worthless, lost in time,
Drowned by tyrants in their grime...

A grind—bones against gravel,
Flesh pulled thin by rusted teeth.
A wail, swallowed by the wind,
Spat back hollow, broken.

The carousel, once a carnival of hope,
Rots in a barren field.
Its beasts—hulking shadows,
Eyes wide, frozen in fear
Of what never came.

Time loops—endless, merciless—
A cruel ring of blood and ash,
Twisting upon itself,
Never ending, never beginning,
Only echoing empty promises.

The wind howls with ghosts of lost ambition,
Claws dragging across splintered wood,
Brushing rusted metal—
Each touch a whisper
Of what could have been, but never was.

Dreams died here.
No one mourned.
They only rotted,
Sinking into the earth,
Leaving behind echoes
No one dares to hear.

And still, the carousel spins—
Not because it wants to,
But because it's too broken to stop.