Stepping on the corpses of all you've known
trekking through the field of bones
the sirens sing, green angels with broken wings
like a desolate future, in need of suture
I see a patina on everything, rustic brains
you can always find some sign of life
for there is always life within something
rose still exist among the filth and ****
there will always be beauty in the lies
and in the truths that flow through our mouths
Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
Stepping on the corpses of all you've known
trekking through the field of bones
the sirens sing, green angels with broken wings
like a desolate future, in need of suture
I see a patina on everything, rustic brains
you can always find some sign of life
for there is always life within something
rose still exist among the filth and ****
there will always be beauty in the lies
and in the truths that flow through our mouths
