of life, our species will not survive. We've kissed the cold palm of death for the satisfaction of our own. The scent of the end fills our senses, for
ve cursed with our sins. So many promises of life blooming into beauty now lay foul from our intercourse of disease. Only the tears of angels will reveal our sorrow
torment. Nothing was ever cherished where the chaos reigned. Now I walk this earth only to stumble on the dead dreams. I tell myself that the sun will rise again, but will