As days blur,
I see the pattern...
Grazing, sealing, purifying.
All that is hideous.
To make it seem beautiful.
I hide,
Behind a mask,
A shell..
A force field.
What seems beautiful,
Isn't true for the beast.
The Beast,
That is hideous.
When she's angry.
So as the pattern lays flat,
These days turn into weeks,
Weeks turn to months.
Months turn to years..
Not a lifeline goes by,
When a monster is involved.
And when it's involved,
It seems the sands of time,
Are frozen still.
Even in the wasteland,
Of Hell..