The salt from my eyes burn
As does the acid of my tongue.
Might a tempest releive me of sound and sight.
Might I unearth the hatchet
And put it to proper use.
My hand is poised, and in fury.
Only thunder gives me rest.
Dare me to breathe
When I cant catch my breath.
Sway my temper's balance.
Only thunder gives me rest.
Hardly
Hardly
Reach Beyond The Sun
Willing Oneself To Forget What Cannot Otherwise Be Forgiven
This Wake I Myself Have Stirred
Chorus Of The Dissimilar
We Who Finish Last
To Suffer Fools
Anesthesia
For The World
The Creation Ruin
Profound Hatred Of Man
Think The Adder Benign
Ending The Prepetual Tragedy
Misanthropy Pure
Venomspreader
Eating Bullets Of Acceptance
Being Exemplary
Solely Concentrating On The Negative Aspects Of Life
Scornful Of The Motives And Virtue Of Others