As the leaves fall yellowing like aged paper,
thoughts turn acrid and curl like cigarette smoke
rising from a butt ground out on my arm.
Step into this decay and experience dissolution.
Crucified on a plank of cruelty,
crucified on a plank of apathy to sleep the winter away.
Immobile for the cold duration.
Huddled in isolation, to sleep the winter away
Другие названия этого текста
- Lamb of god - Lies Of Autumn (1)
- Стас Пьеха - Есаул (0)
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