12 acessos
I turn to myself , to look for remains of time
My past gives birth to torsos of dead hours of mine
Present brings abortion-days into this nameless world
Devoured rotting flesh of my unspoken words
I can feel the walls the maze of smiles of fake
Built of blows of mine I can feel the walls leads my steps astray
Mutants of birth and breeding-sharp fangs to hire
Ariadne's thread made of barbed wire
Doors open to Nowhere, beyond invisible sill
Walls of deranged concepts keep on growing still