Tristan Robert Lange


On the rocks I drink
The poison that I think
May lead me to numb
The pain that is done.

There is no escape
To the hell that is fate
For the unholy damned;
The garden is unmanned!

This world sucks the life
Out of all of this strife,
But it cannot stop the hate
That fills the scene this late!

The garden is colored black,
I can never, ever turn back.
This world sold out; no gain,
The dead stand preordained.