Wayward are our hearts sheltered with omnipotence, soaking all the colors in to find a trace of innocence. An absence of your presence confuse the feeble minds, condescendence seem so endless provoking these troubled times.
Impurity and impatient we all have seen the road, shadows crashing, ever tainted beyond a shallow grove. No one knows the ending, no one waits around, our world is slowly dying with no kindness to be found.
Ambers scatter softly as the world turns to ash, cries echo madly as our Titian’s start to clash. Shattered bones and innocent blood shall be placed as the foundation, having severed the unholy bond we take what has been taken. It all depends on weather or not we change or stay the same. This game will surly end if we all refuse to play.
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