In cold dark cellars we need not dwell For our mind are our own hells In the rustle of leaves we forger our names In every heart beat we feel the pain Stooped over, bent by life’s many cares You will find in our eyes the light of despair Saddened by the moon’s pale glare Up to the sun, do we look? Do we dare? We wear our shame as our crowns Upon our fears we make our thrones Hear our cries! Raging and distant Damned by fate! Bloodied Victims Foul smelling, bald headed mendicants We are the God fearing, the devout, deformed monks The sin of life was our sin The hymn of death is our hymn We are the saunterers, the tired travelers Ours is the weary way that goes on forever But, in the end all will disappear All your words and our precious tears What was this life? But a great tragedy Messianic prose become God damned poetry.
Reason for writing:
To share the burden of life with other travellers.
Birth sign: Not entered
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