My wounded cries reach the ears of the damned,
My struggles are all in vain.
Cold snow drifts into my open grave,
My wings are bound to my pain.
My white wings, broken from the fall,
Are chained to my casket, my soul.
I fight as the earth is tossed into my grave,
My blood, the dirt, making me whole.
I cry for the help my soul so desperately needs,
Hoping for someone to hear.
But the only ears that hear are those of the stone angels,
Their cold faces unaffected by my tears.
Granite faces smiling haunt my dreams,
My will starting to fade.
Weakly, I struggle in my open grave,
For the life I was destined to have made.
Haunted faces of my past throw dirt into my grave,
Weighing me farther down below.
I cry for their help, I cry for their aid,
But they mock me, by making my death slow.
My psychotic yells reach the ears of the dead,
My life is all in vain.
Cold snow, mocking voices, reach me in my open grave,
My wings are chained to my pain.
