It's not so ill done beneath the light of the sun
That is stark and bleak in the crystal encrusted night
For such deeds show abhorrence for the illumination
That reveals their cruel tongues and their sunken hearts
It's cold in the stone and it seeps along the walls and floors
And it cradles cool feet that trespass so fruitlessly within their hold
Monochrome beauties, so ghastly pale, smile at the sorrow
As lost logic is administered to the wounds that have festered
The doors remain locked; they obey no masters
The key consumed by a devouring and ravenous mouth
Held hostage in a full stomach churning vomit and bile
And it's familiar flesh that must be torn apart to enter
And escape the entrapment of the feeble mind
Lies breathe in the dust; their fumbling fingers reach out to grasp an exposed throat
Wraiths kiss trembling lips and fevered brows
Loving, so gently, the fear that ignites the blood beneath the skin
That so carelessly, and easily, could embellish a spider-spun soul
There is no return. There can be no return from the labyrinth.
The locks hold, tight and waiting,
Only wandering eyes of history's shame know the remnants of sins and shadows
That have torn gasps from the wind and blood from cold veins
They smile with dark eyes but are left wanting
