In a world full of stories, History; the tormented and tormentor Of dreams and reality. Subjecting, twisting, and rotting The tales The tales of the weak, Powerful, Poor and rich.
The whole story is waiting, Waiting, Waiting, lost in history
Whos Ghost sits at me door? sitting and it weeps on the floor. I watch him frown and glow. His fears surrounded in woe. His heart and soul shakes, Sobs until the tears leave wakes. The silence finally breaks As distance waves of birds awake.
The ghost is a deep blue But he has promises to keep Until them he shall not sleep. He lies i bed with ducts that weep.
He rises from the dead With thoughts of sadness flooding his head. He Idols being dead. Face the day with never ending dread.
Who’s those sits at my door? Weeping on the floor.
They’re close, Getting closer. About to break free. About to cross from, A different realm of exsistance. Few can see them. The ones that do are ridiculed. Everyone can see them. I only see my own. So many, I still feel lonely. I see my demons Can you see yours?
I’m the one to blame After all I’ve seen, done, will do Or, said I’m the one to blame. Sure they told me to, But I’m the one that did it. I said what I said And did what I did. I can’t take it back. I don’t want to. I’m not sorry. Don’t blame yourself. I’m the one to blame.