Weltschmerz - Anne Clark

This is where silence runs its course

And sadness wipes its eyes upon us

We fall from a structure build on troubled minds

My world becomes iron and grows an cold as Winter

Soldiers in uniforms of nudity march over open hearts

Sweetly and sickly scented by roses

And your world id crushing you like those flowers

By scripts written into your skinwith the in of thorns

Ashen faces sink into silence

All lonesome trends brush shoulders

All of last nights degredation

Builds foundations on us both.