Empty like the Dead.

By Nephildevil

We pretend our love, we feel only a blasfemy of the false
Sick as our poisened blood made us, we crushed satisfaction.

Cold and empty, we are distinguished.
Purity we destroyed in our sickness.

Frozen in the fabric of time we are immortal, but dead.

Misery made us laugh, cries of despair was our music.

We burn humility and hate those who dare.

Our cup of respect is empty, like a woman who cried her last time.

Empty like the dead.

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