Yellow eyes are seen circling
A whirlwind arriving for the passing storm
The hunt... The hunter inside
The wanderer wanders too far from the gold distance
Where they live... Where the quiet lay their drowning heads at night
Flesh drapes on the smoking ground and then spills onto the teeth of the once protected
Our souls grip onto a wall
Our minds slip past this old soul
Smoke is seen in both directions
My creation sits... My progress awaits
Smoke is seen in both directions
In rubble... Their creation
Somewhere in the distance
The softness of snow mutes my travels
Somewhere in the distance
This landscape seems to change too often for comfort
A blinking light hides as I stumble downward
A stillness... It’s too quiet
My crumbling bones seem to weld the new author
A stillness... It’s too quiet
The hum of electricity... Seems to buzz
Cut an X in my palm... Leave my mark
A translation for whatever created this world for me
I sit under the crimson Moon
Whatever created this world for me
Collisions open on us more
The simple task of our own
A cocoon leaking our own conclusions
I am tangible with no logic
Change my focus, drown my spirits
There’s more to this than it may seem
Blink fast into hollow ground
