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The Damned
songs made of whispers silent screams like a choral of the dead needles prick the softest skin & the breeze screams bloodlust these eyes gazing over the hilltops burning red the night skies seem to follow me blanketing me with crowds of grey & black the crowd of the damned screams eyes shown red raise the dead the breeze screaming over the whispers in the dark setting the leaves in sway hanging there like a body from the raftors smiling back at me they wait in eager circles for me to stagger into the darkness these images that i have seen they still burn inside of me
