Vughnilla Sk-eye

If we perish under those golden eyes,

 are those surrounding us meant to ascertain

if the soul is perishable?

But we're told that we shouldn't fear it,

they expect for us to lie in wake,

refuse the wine,

plead until the day is fine,

hopefully we'll just fall into the Skye.

Is there truly a purpose of the meaning?

Can a monetary thirst and lustful hunger ever be sated?

What happens when elegance mates with virtue? 

Will there be a median,

Most will declare that you wish you hadn't the truth to tell.

But they told us that we wouldn't hear it, expectations always prove that they want us to feed their demons,

feign the good times, lay here and fry,

playfully pushed into the Skye.

Should you dine on the most innocent on minds,

or prey on the tinder flesh of the amorous? 

Close  your eyes until the feelings become more vapid than our notions of right or wrong,

carnivores would rather wait for the meal,

but a scavenger just ponders until it can smell the swan song.

But I was told if I avert my eyes I wouldn't see it,

the blood doesn't always run cold, what if there is no path to walk, you never sleep, the nightmares only entice the grog, my heart and thoughts could rival coal or the blackest of fog.

Like the broken hearts of many, or funeral roses I shall wither and die. Fade into aether, my thoughts become, I don't want to rise again, may I fall on to a shattered Skye.