A million outstretched arms beckon through fire-licked window panes.
Torment displaced through shreds of decay.
Silently we become.
Somethings were meant to be.
Somethings were meant to burn.
Ashes dance about the irises of the afflicted.
This masquerade must come to an end.
A finale with a song so catatonic;
and death so serene.
A cold and black whisper from the dredge of forgotten men.
So come wither with me.
And denounce reality with a somber soliloquy.
I promise not to steal your breath.
Until the very last time we breathe.
And you’ll love me for it.
Because there is beauty in this decay.
– 1985 A.D.