3 acessos
In my mind it is clear, a truth within, I hold the key;
Through the fields of joy, at times of pain, I am fury.
Nurture the food of my disgust, their pain will easy my victory;
Before despondent, insecure, now focused on reality.
My soul can shape the mould of time, I am a chosen entity;
Defy the gaping wounds that cry: Fury is now becoming me.
Tired of reading lies, stretched wretched whore,
Soul searching plea.
Lies nurture my discontent, sick of the same cursing voice.
I will spit on your graves.