Dead to the point of no recollection,
Nobody rings the funeral bells,
Disappointed souls peep in through windows
Through golden glass coffins at the gateway of hell.
Rise above the river of darkness,
Feel the vapors of mystical suns,
Hands reach out, you're wanted in the sea,
Pull you under before you can run.
The woods are alive,
Trees and shadows run you down,
Careless screams of homeless serpents,
Shrill, they pierce into your nervous system,
You squint in agony,
There is no point hissing,
They will drown you,
They will choke you,
There is no cry for help.
A pair of twins at the edge of the forest,
A dark spot on the map,
It is forbiden,
Young urchins,
Above the law,
They snuck in playfully at 5 pm on a Saturday evening.
It's Tuesday now,
A bloodied scarf flutters in the wind,
The father, glass maker at the factory,
He plays with the hands of the clock,
Still hopeful even though his heart stabs him,
Count to ten.
One,
Two,
Three,
Four,
Five,
Six,
Seven,
Eight,
Nine,
Ten.
Murder bloody murder,
Have you felt the claws of deception tear at your heart?
Her screams ran through the castle,
The brother was already motionless,
Blood sacrifices and pentagrams decorate the wall,
The clock chimes twelve times.
AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH !!
The glass maker sits in his room,
With his masterpiece of golden glass,
His heart skips two beats,
One for the daughter,
One for the son,
He lays them down in the coffin,
Shuts down the transparent cover,
A disappointed soul,
He peeps in through the window,
The twins lie stiff and gray,
Dead to the point of no recollection.