Soulmech1

The storyteller is lost in us Don't ask me where he went I see his traces in the words you write But his power is truly spent And all I see now is meaningless Words made simply for the thrill Belted out by a literary killer Monster, looking for a fill

Twinkle twinkle, little star! How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high. Like a demon in the sky. The night is burning like my head, The voices whispering in my bed. The stars around me are singing now, To butcher the town and to fill my vow. So here I walk into the night. Snuffing candles, snuffing light, Above their beds I'm creeping now. Bleeding pigs to fill my vow. Twinkle twinkle, little star! Death is all I know you are. A mist above the world so high, Red as the glow of a demon's eye!

My brain is sick. It only thinks of twisted things. Like how we burn our eyes out, And we rip our wings. And then we sit in the dark, Staring blankly at each other. Our eye-sockets bleeding, On a wounded brother. Then we kneel down, Praying to the sun. Hoping things get brighter; But we don't know what we've done! We take our tongues out, We scar them with razors. Spitting every blade Across other people's faces. And if you start feeling, My words are getting dark; I'm just painting pictures But you are making them stark! And now you feel dead; Surreal in your mind. So listen to this preacher, From the land of the blind.