After it passes us by.
The harsh, cries of the weak
Harborers of false faith
The wanderers, Lost in a sea of
Immeninent denial.
Only our time here will tell.
While they sharpen the knife
Oblivious to the danger
That hovers beneath their necks
Carelessly enduring the storm.
Apathy in purest form
The bitter winds blowing
Above the barren plain.
Crippling and breaking down
Endless fucking Grieving
Wearing on the flesh.
Turning life into a hardened gray.
Gray.
