In shackled desperation gleamed,

translucent as if from a dream,

bound by lifetimes birthed to spoil

and wind you down this mortal coil

expanded to the will of man

suppressed in ways you don't understand

worn and broken, pieces still

don't fit the mold, this hole wont fill

whispers tell you not to cry

and "It's Ok, we all must die"

but don't release my soul still sparks

and reaches out now from the dark




Whispered...



in transmissions much to soft to hear

I'm not dead...no, I'm still here!

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