Breathing became harder when the walls grew on this blackish keep. Trying to fathom and gather, the skin that rests of my mortal weep.
King of this twisted cave, soundless footsteps of my heart enclave, hushing voices saying ive strayed from the path i carved in grey.
Reckoning my last mishap, unable to choose a simple light or trap. Memories of a fast decline, is this my penance or an ominous sign.
Статистика страницы на pesni.guru ▼
Просмотров сегодня: 1