Play the bones of old men tales Open your head to the scars that they share Hell has no fire but that passionate flare Never quenched as you walk with obsessed stares
Claw marks on my heart Cob-webbed voice gets it’s start Snares and snake-pits and that deadly silence Snagged my first steps as pride stalked
Crossbones and skulls filled with the symphony Of angels with voices of fire Black smoke rises from the ashes of self Burned away by a blue, holy fire
Is there purpose in blood-shed, love in that cut wrist Break the chains of independence or death We walk in a garden, cut off from the black souls That dance a dark waltz on our graves