1cedGuardian

When a spirit is detached from us It cries for what was once lost But in that, the most important of moments Do we, as vermin, see our true freedom Purulent mites to crawl on the floor Sucking the blood from any host This is, at times, what our existence is made of Waiting for the inevitable deluge to drown us all Propping ourselves on podiums made of cardboard We preach to a choir that which cares not. Its a truly lamentable game we play, Sometimes its better to sit and the dark and pray Yet when the prayers are sent from our soul It goes to a God that's nothing, no more He left us all long ago, closed his kingdom as well, Seeing within us a cause that's been lost And when this sudden realization occurs; Do you drop in defeat? Do you pray for death? While its embrace may be sweet It is a cowards game, nothing courageous in it For we are purulent mites that crawl on the floor Sucking the blood from any host This is, at times, what our existence is made of