In one year,
I've wandered around like the seasons,
in search of a place to let my scars
turn golden.
My blood has freezed, and now
I'm carrying ice-bergs in my tired veins.
I am a product of fog and dust,
slowly becoming invisible
and unsettling.
Not even the moon could reach out to me
anymore,
for I've sunk so deep into darkness,
its light would die here.
There's a different king of living in this land,
all marked by agony and madness,
and grim laughs that terrorize human souls,
whispers that play with their minds.
I've reached the end,
the cruel end,
and now,
there's nowhere to go.