ledworldnuke's picture

The soul spills these tears of shattered light from soft distant eyes
Color bleeds into these dreams from wounds and scars that never heal
And amidst the dark and cobwebs that harbor in the graying shell
You can feel faint pulses from your dying heart
And as it gives its final goodnight it lets out scream; time for the autopsy

So open up the chest with a box cutter and let the light pour out
Take that prismatic heart from its shelf and hold it up for all to see
Hand made from velvet and crystal soul, bleeding sulfur and venom on your hands
Blood flows down in scarlet chords from your fingertips
While your hands are stained black from the toxins and disease it spills

Maybe tragedy is a virus, one that spreads through the masses
Symptoms include depression, self mutilation, broken hearts, and suicide
You can take all the pills you want until you can do nothing but smile
But beneath that pellucid grin you’re waiting for the overdose
And the final collapse before the machine sirens death; your remedy