Can happiness kill what's inside you?
Can love destroy all you've been through?
Can stones bleed crimson sorrow?
If you've had your fill, can you still be hollow?
In a world of unreality everything becomes real,
In a place of numbness you can always feel,
Never alive enough to make a difference,
Never dead enough to realise your existence.
Passion blooms in troups of multicoloured damned,
The flames of repentance are once more fanned,
But can you fight fire with a blaze of glory?
Or will you in the end feel wounded and sorry?
Sorry I tried; even thought I knew I'd fail,
Sorry I lied; made a twist in the tale,
Sorry I believed; symbolism fetid and heaving,
Sorry I died; but not enough to cease breathing.
Tell the wind your secrets, and they'll tell them to the trees,
Rend your madness to the clouds that stain the seas,
Let the warp of the candle flame guide you to Bliss,
Let debauchery lead you to a lust-stained kiss,
Travel far and wide, through troughs of the Devil,
As you walk the valley of Hell, fear all evil,
With the whispers of past ghosts to guide you to where they dwell,
Where the shadow of Life causes a greater dread than hell,
At last you'll find your very own heart,
A twisted artefact beyond the realm of art,
A ruby hourglass losing more sand each sunset,
Etched in fate, and mirrored in regret.
Death becomes us all, and has a dignity its own,
To end the journey and see what has grown.
Your ceaseless wanderings to make sense,
Cultivates a shrub of thorns to weave a funeral dress.
As you reach the end all your questions are answered,
All your plagues reach a state where they can't be hampered,
The world of unreality becomes terribly real,
As you reach the conclusion that nothing can heal.