Million Dead
A Song To Ruin
A lone voice crying in the wilderness: Make the straight way for the coming of the... A dry throat stutters on an empty vision of milk and honey and desolate quiet. A dry mouth falters on the opening blast of a song to ruin, What it left behind. a bare sole longing for the feel of concrete and a lone voice crying in the wilderness. I have these dreams when I'm feeling sick of unfinished patterns that I can't collate at all. Of an inward breath in a land bereft of uncrippled figures. Of an exhalation, Of the himavant, Of a pulse.
From Letras Mania