Music of the Day!

Lips quiver with fear and doubt, poisoned at the thought of loss. As the sun does have its way with the horizon and it burns. The maker's guilt overwhelms the sound of broken hope and voices soft. To be celestial, is also to be cursed.
Lost in its way, the weight of fear, makes feeble bones of elder wood. The mandrakes root is but kindling if you don't know how to use it. Whispers enter morbid ears, to which white noise crosses and changes mood, and distorts common meaning otherwise lucid.

Upon the neck salvation lay, the means within my mortal grasp. In life they'll say a giver, in death they'll say a martyr. I wish to see light of day, knowing this time will be the last. The sun would send me off as I begin my departure.

Holy when it's- holy only when it's gone.
Holy when it's- holy only when it's gone.

Elaborate masks radiate as the sun, and everything the light touches dies. The dry fields fetid and decomposed, their carcasses point to the sky. Sickly monsters with vicious claws stand idol and drool of decay. And with one simple slash at the torso or head, the veil of doubt's ripped away.

Lips quiver with lust and rage, tongues stroke over a forming fang. Enter now, a gentle man with silver to his feet. The beast would bark and scream aloud, but nothing more than petty howls, the gentle man's intrusion would be met with intrigue.

Holy when it's- holy only when it's gone.
Holy when it's- holy only when it's gone.

Your pain is felt in virtue, and breaks within the dawn. The twilight is upon us, but the witnesses are gone. It moves into the night, you wish this was a game, it's moves into the morning, and you wish this was a dream. With every passing cycle you have given up your soul, when every cut is vital, do you give it your all? Take off all the rings, they're not really made of gold, they're crafted of granite to weigh down your hand. Anger comes so naturally, seek now, your revenge. Everything's according to the master plan. The planets all align and your time to strike is now, simply say the word and all this can be yours.

Twilight breaks,
and now the time has come.
My mind is strained,
so close your eyes my son.
Feign ambition,
at a loss for words.
So take my soul,
and give you back the world.

Lips stern, elder of craft, a tongue is made to persuade the mass, and revitalize a being that was lost at birth. A voice with depth that sings so smooth, with lyrics that could only prove that anyone except the meek can inherit the earth.

Always a step from the edge, but I can't shake the feeling I've already jumped...