He sits in a corner Awaiting for his second death Life is just a phantasmagoria Failing gods Emerging scars He is still waiting for the dawn Ghastly shapes in the ceiling Enduring visions of torment Burned to retinas Cacophony behind the eyes Never ceases its song Hell is all about repetition Eternity in seconds And for a brief moment Purgatory around him was silent Calm before the storm She ascends Her laughter is a rope An iconoclast Suffocating truth Happiness was the cyanide She grabs him Holds him tight Like he did Whispers his sentence Nowhere to run Nowhere to hide Face the judgement Embrace the cold He quenches his thirst with pain By a cold blade to the gut Grabs the handle with a smile A twist of a knife Nothing was lost here
grab, quenches, nowhere, second, phantasmagoria