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Whispers, According To Memory
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Whispers are grave-stone rumors
Sentient horrors fluent in many tongues
With eyes pressed against
every window-pane
Peering into every cold fireplace coal
Whispers are drained souls on ice
Pained voices sliced
on the rocks
Flag-staff and swordhilt mutterings
Leaving a rose on your linens
Whispers are tributes to secrets
And secrets are lies from word to ear
Silver articulations that result in tears
Marking the marble crimson
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Glory In Death's Good Graces
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If I had such a star to wish
on
Would those empty wishes bother to be heard?
I could never imagine a time that they'd need to
Dischordant melodies
of hurt are all my words are worth
Whisper to me, dearest, and save me
Cut me with your seductive glances
The
doctor doesn't believe me anymore
Left alone, surrounded by broken chances
Black is more just a state of mind,
lover
A kiss from the grave's 'Essence of Hate'
So kiss me, darling, and die in stillborn peace
The only rest
these lips could ever facilitate
That's how you'll know I care
That's how you'll know I'm here...
I'm always
here...
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