Psycho One Hundred: Evening


Soon dawn It brings the sun and whispers are no longer
Her former life adapts the freezing cold
He breathes and touches her, a form of worshipping sadness
Blood, sputum, seed are one, drawing scenes, so vile
The heat of day climbs higher, the mist soon leaves her white flesh
In remembrance, darkness, filled with screams of laughter
His tense appearance relives a glorious past, so beloved
A last kiss then, love, we sever
Soon day, light diffuses it's finger through the window
Hope, her eyes seem now a moment
He enters, from earth abandoned, performing a play of the horrified
In ecstasy his eyes, as fire, point at the ceiling
Soon dawn, it brings the sun and whispers are no longer, her







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