we faked the grave that was to ferment the haze
covered solely by undying eyes
and our place in haste was only laid to waste
by those ghosts that harvest the wise

but our egos grew just to big to pursue
with those golden daggers hand in hand
our crimson swelled only bellowed by hell
we were worse then where we began

My dear I was nothing,
for it was all you ever fed
a captive of the locusts
I swear I was better off dead.

I was only ever yours.