If our lives were spent alone
Who would be the first to cry?
Wilting, poor, all on one's own
Who would think, "when will I die?"

When darkness slumps through the bark of oak
The veins of vultures ready to latch
Around crimson promise and blessed choke
Finally, scare and prepare to ******

And if someday, we come to owe Harm
Do we run, strike and speak out
Or simply stroke, battering heavy charm?
Misunderstood, hands must fall to forget or thrash about

There lies a wall of truth and song
Overcoming beggars and idiolopologists
Where birds fall dead, lamenting their wrong
Shut them out, they all studied to be pathetitoligists

Study of stupid and study of told
When will they cry?
They'll follow with metallic hearts, chilled, cold
Why not die?