Shadows of Filth
Roses cold and wet lay upon stone.
Winter rain cleanses the faded name,
not a whisper through the rows of the dead.
Life and death is their own gallows,
wrought iron gates sways from ghostly winds.
Angels speak in dreams,
demons haunt in nightmares.
Flames are fueled by past sins,
murder drives the present economy and Gods define this obscure future.
History becomes neutral as we shift gears of destiny.
Endless crimson wine fills over goblets for the world to drink.
Graves shallow from time,
unwinding decay behaves like spring.
Each one walks the stairway of fate, alone.
Trust was stricken from the heart of faith.
Entertaining destruction,
a God to the strong.
Power ebbs the trait of humility,
a wrath hounds these bodies of the deceased.
Given in to the essential will,
an addiction from birth.
A chain event,
that corrupts the cycle of life.
A misguided opinion on the theory of multiple-Gods,
striding for truth but falling into shadows of filth.
Shadows of filth hinder the advancement to glory.
A single beautiful tear is lost among the rows of the dead,
winter rain cleanses the faded name.
