It’s in those hours that flicker between dusk and dawn,
those hours where but a few lone creatures
carry the emotional weight of the world,
that I find myself- with reckless abandon-
pursuing ******* and bards on a one way trip
toward hysteria and decay.
                                            I stand
at the crossroads where the devil purchased souls
back when they were worth something.
‘Cause now the devil has gotten too good;
souls aren’t worth anything if they’re not worth saving.
I shake in rage at how he throws us away,
the ones willing to sell ourselves to him
so we could grasp at the straws of immortality,
and revel in sin for the sake of something
that doesn't matter anymore,
and perhaps never did.