Advent Of Bedlam Echoes Of The Unhinged
Faith goes away, without knowing whether it’s day or
night
It disappears in the waters of mystery
I can’t see anything but stains of light
I disguise my ideas so I won’t contradict them
I act cautiously so I won’t be alone
Heading to the disintegration of myself
A cursed echo is embedded in my soul
Slowly rotting, gazing upon a curious face
Until I find myself in oblivion…
A false sense of one’ self, a hallow excuse for a life
Becoming unconscious , an object for them to sell.
