Rock Hard City
Imaginary dreamsAbout the silence of deathIs a celebrated themeAnd a whisper from God’s breath.
Imaginary dreamsAbout the silence of deathIs a celebrated themeAnd a whisper from God’s breath.
Could the skies turn blackCould the rain be redCould a sadness comeCould we become Undead.
NonsenseShe saidWhile driving a nailInto my head. Your deceptions are clearYour motives are fearTo me, And foreverYour dead.
A stuttering silenceAnd a staggering delayMeans our entrance was disguisedAs an insta glorious Foray. A swaggering slinkDown a slippery wayMeans our exit has turned Into an insta infamousParade.