Singe the bellowing esteem of nonentity:
The thumper of a silhouette.
In your deed you sink down,
From the dangling second of hate.
The more you have been, the less you were;
Hues of a figure,
That crawls behind your back.
The more you got, the less you had,
As the evanescence smothered the moment to death.
From a crack of noise, the light slithers through,
Don't shed a voice, for a silhouette it hums to.
Solace of shade outlined upon the dust,
As the pavements merge into the crowds,
Dont shed a voice for it passes on through; With a crack of noise, the ache breaks in two.
As the moments pass, a lullaby inebriates the silhouette,
From those moments on, hues of a figure sleeps behind your back.
